Back in the Saddle
by Clowns or Midgets
Summary: The apocalypse is over. Sam and Dean are together and ready to start their lives free of Heaven and Hell's machinations. There is a new threat though, a new fight, and they are left clinging to family and friends to keep what they have remaining safe. Part 5 of the Brotherhood Series
1. Chapter 1

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for signing up to beta another story, SandraEngstrom2 and Gredelina1 for helping me get the ideas done, and you all for coming back yet again to support the series.  
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* * *

 _ **Chapter One**_

Dean was kneeling on the ground in the spot where the portal had closed. His hands were fisted in the grass as though he could still reach down and pull his brother back. He couldn't. It was too late, and even if he had been able to, Castiel knew he would not have done it. None of them would, as this was Sam's choice and sacrifice.

Castiel stood behind him with a hand on his shoulder and his heart aching for his friend. He wished there was more he could do. Had he been injured, he could have healed him, but Dean's agony was all emotional, and Castiel had never found the secret to easing that kind of pain. If he had, he would have healed himself, too. He felt misery such as he had never felt before in millennia of service to God. When Sam had died trying to evade his fate as a vessel, Castiel had been sad, but he'd known Sam would come back. There was no comfort of that knowledge this time. He could not come back. Sam had not just died; he had banished himself to the Cage, to an eternity of punishment at the hands of the devil.

"You might want to get him out of here, Feathers," Crowley said dryly. Castiel started. He had forgotten the demon was still there. "'Cause I'm pretty sure Mickey is going to come back to make with the battle again, and it's really best if part of the reason the bout got cancelled isn't here for him to vent his rage upon."

He was right, of course. Castiel tugged Dean to his feet, speaking gently, "Come, Dean, we have to go before Michael returns."

Seemingly on autopilot, Dean let himself be tugged to his feet and braced with an arm around his shoulders. Castiel spread his wings at his back and carried Dean away.

They did not need to speak when they arrived at The Roadhouse. Their expressions told the story.

Ellen crumpled into a chair, a keen crying ripping from her, Sam's name mingled with her expression of anguish. Dean took one step toward her and then faltered and stopped. Castiel looked at him and felt his stolen heart contract painfully. He had thought his own pain was great. He thought he was hurting for Sam. His grief was like a drop of water in an ocean compared to Dean's. The man was devastated, though even that word didn't feel strong enough to describe it. Bloodshot eyes gazed around the room, searching for something, someone, that would never be there again.

"Sit down, Dean," Castiel said softly, sure that if he did not, he would soon fall.

Dean shook his head. "Things I gotta do."

What? Castiel wondered. What was there to do now but mourn?

"Yes," Jo said, seizing on Dean's words. "We need to… For Sam…"

Another cry slipped through Ellen's lips.

"There is nothing to do, Jo," Castiel said.

"We need to take care of him."

Dean looked at her, dead green eyes meeting brown, and said, "There's nothing to take care of, Jo. He's gone."

"I know," she said, her words choked. "But his… body."

"There is no body," Castiel said when Dean's silence became too long. "When Sam took Lucifer down, he took him down completely. Lucifer was trapped within Sam's body."

"But… I need to take care of him." She sounded so young.

"We can't," Dean said, not seeming to hear the cries ripping from Ellen. "He's not here anymore."

"No!" Jo shook her head jerkily. "He's not. He can't be. I need to take care of him." Her voice rose to a shout. "He needs us!"

Dean dragged her into his arms, unfazed as she beat her fist against him in anguish. "He's gone, Jo. He's gone." He repeated the words to her again and again, his voice rising as did her cries of denial. "Sam is gone."

The words seemed to be the permission he needed to free the stranglehold he had on his own emotions. He began to cry out, his own expressions of grief mingling with Ellen's and Jo's in a chorus of agony.

Castiel stood useless beside them, unable to do a thing to comfort or repair. Sam was gone, and it seemed to Castiel that he had taken a part of each of them with him.

* * *

The bar was noisy and busy.

Ellen would once have been pleased to see her business flourishing, but everything felt meaningless now: the money in the register, the hunters sitting at the tables, the cases of beer that needed to be unpacked, the empty pretzel bowls, and the dirty and sticky counter that had not been wiped in days. It _was_ all meaningless now that he was gone, taking her love with him—at least that was what he had said in his letter.

She had to wonder, though, if the part of her he had taken to the Cage would provide any comfort at all in that place. How could anything be a comfort when your jailer was Lucifer and your sentence was eternity? Years after she was gone, Sam would still be suffering. When there was no one left who remembered Sam's name, when no one knew he had been the man who saved the world, he would still be there.

She didn't know who she was angrier with, Sam or herself. Had she been stronger, more persuasive, she might have been able to stop him. If she had been a better mother, she might have known the words he needed to hear to stop him doing it. The fact he'd been saving the world seemed of little importance in the face of the price of that salvation.

She was so angry. All the time, she felt like she was on the verge of violence. Even Ash, so sweet and unimposing, aggravated her. He sat at the bar day after day—drinking more than ever before—and his life was so simple and free that it galled her. The only person's presence that didn't make her want to lash out was Jo's. She soothed her mother in some instinctual way. Ellen had one child left to her now that Sam was gone, and she loved her enough for the two of them.

She was pouring a beer for a hunter when a snatch of conversation reached her from along the bar. She largely ignored what people said unless it was addressed to her directly these days, sometimes even then, but the name caught her attention.

"You've got to admit, Winchester was a pain in the ass." It was Kubrick, and he was talking to Mackey.

"He was a decent man," Mackey argued. "He did a lot of good."

"Yeah, he saved some lives, but you can't say he wasn't damn arrogant. He thought he was the best and made sure we all knew it. After his daddy died, you were lucky if he'd give you the time of day. He strutted around like the big I am."

"He was grieving," Mackey said. "I don't think—"

Whatever he was going to say next was cut off as he caught sight of Ellen walking around the bar towards him, her shotgun aimed directly at Kubrick's chest.

"Ellen!" Mackey cried out, raising his hands in front of him.

Kubrick paled slightly as he took in the shotgun. "Now, Ellen," he said patronizingly, "you don't want to do anything stupid."

Her eyes narrowed. "You talking about my boy?"

Mackey swallowed hard. "He didn't mean anything by it."

Ellen cocked the gun. "My boy was a hero!" she snarled.

"Absolutely," Mackey said. "We know that. Kubrick is just running his mouth. He doesn't mean any offence."

"He saved the world!" Ellen shouted.

Absolute silence fell over the bar. No one moved to help Kubrick or disarm Ellen. Perhaps they thought he deserved it. Perhaps they knew Ellen would shoot them, too.

"I really doubt it," Kubrick said, playing to the audience now. "He was a decent hunter, sure, but that's a bit much even for you, Ellen."

Ellen lowered the gun slightly and pulled the trigger. Blood blossomed on the pants leg of Kubrick's thigh and he fell back shouting.

For a moment there was silence but for Kubrick, and then Ellen said, "Anyone else got anything to say against Sam? No? What about Dean or John? You got some bullshit about them you want to share?"

Heads were shaken but no one spoke.

"Good," she said. "Now get out of here, all of you. We're shutting up early today." She glanced down at the writhing man on the floor and added, "Someone get this trash out of here before he bleeds all over my floor."

She didn't wait to see if she was obeyed. She reached over the bar, grabbed a bottle, and carried it into the back.

* * *

The room seemed too large, though it was just an average sized double. The second bed drew Dean's eyes like a magnet. He should have asked for a king but he hadn't thought. It was automatic to get a room with two beds after three years of traveling with his brother. He'd realized his mistake as soon as he'd let himself in, but he couldn't face going back to the motel office to change. It would have involved an explanation and he couldn't bring himself to tell the truth. _Because the man who should take the other bed is gone._

He couldn't say the word _dead_. Sam was gone. He had been gone so many times before and he'd always come back, and even though he couldn't this time, dead still seemed too final, as if Dean was accepting what had happened. There was no acceptance for him, not yet.

He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the crumpled envelope he'd carried close to him for weeks now, ever since he'd found it resting on his pillow in their bedroom at The Roadhouse. He wasn't ready to read it yet. He was saving it for a day he needed Sam most. He had only one chance to read it for the first time and he didn't want to waste it.

He traced a finger over his name and imagined Sam making the marks on the paper. When had he done it? Was this something he had carried a while or had he taken the opportunity that last day in the bar when Dean had been outside Ellen's door, pleading with her to come out and have time with Sam while she still could?

"Dammit, Sammy," he sighed.

He had left The Roadhouse within hours of their return from Stull Cemetery. He had stayed long enough to see Jo help Ellen into bed and to say brief goodbyes, then he'd climbed into the Impala and driven away. Over the course of the next few days he'd made it as far as a small town in Pennsylvania and there he'd stalled in his journey. He couldn't make the last few hours ride to Sonny's. He knew that once he arrived there he would have to talk, to explain where Sam was. He would have to deal with Sonny's concern, Mitch's questions and the kids' curiosity about where the hurricane man had gone. He didn't think he could bear it.

Instead, he had given into Winchester tradition, finding a liquor store and emerging with a paper sack of whiskey and heavy heart. He booked into the first motel he'd seen and started drinking. He knew he would have disappointed Sam by doing it, but Sam was beyond pride and disappointment now. For the first time, Dean fully understood the slippery path Sam had taken after his own death, how hard it was to face each day. Though each morning was a blessing for those few seconds of ignorance as sleep muddled his mind and made him think Sam was still there, in the bed beside his. The crushing pain of realizing he was mistaken was worth the happiness of those seconds.

It was midday when Castiel came. Dean hadn't seen him since he'd left The Roadhouse and, in truth, he'd not thought he would see him again for a long time, if ever. But Castiel came in a rush of wings and appeared at the end of the bed Dean was sitting on, leaning back against the headboard. He wasn't yet drinking, but the evidence of what he had been doing since his arrival was obvious by the smells of the room and the empty bottles dotted around.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel said, no pleasure in his voice, just a shadow of sadness.

"Cas." Dean raked a hand over his face to try to wake himself up properly. "How did you find me? I thought the rib etchings…"

"Chuck," Castiel said simply.

"Didn't think he'd still be tuned into Winchester vision after it all ended."

"He is and will be for the rest of his life."

"Lucky him," Dean said soberly.

Castiel's eyes scanned the room, taking in the bottles, the dirty clothes on the floor and the untouched second bed. "This is not good, Dean."

Dean shrugged. "I know."

"Sam wouldn't want…"

Dean winced. "Don't! Please, Cas, don't. I can't bear it."

Castiel nodded sadly. "I apologize. But there are better ways, Dean."

"I know," he said again. He just couldn't make himself do them. He wanted to be obliterated by drink. He didn't want to feel, and though he knew Castiel was right, Sam wouldn't want this if he was there, Dean didn't know what else to do now that he was gone.

"Sonny has been calling you; did you know?"

Dean glanced at the dead screen of his cell phone and shook his head. "Haven't charged it." He frowned. "How do you even know?"

"I have been checking on him from time to time, waiting for your arrival. He's very worried."

Dean sighed. "I don't want to make it worse by going to him."

Castiel frowned. "You have always gone to him before though, haven't you? Even when you were in pain. He will be able to…"

"Make me better?" Dean asked, his words torn between hope and sarcasm.

"He will support you as only someone who knows you so well can."

Dean bowed his head. He thought Castiel was right, but he was afraid. He didn't want to face what had happened. Here, in his drunken haze, it was easier.

"What if that makes it worse?"

"Do you truly believe it can be worse?" Castiel asked. His eyes drifted to the letter on the bed beside Dean and his eyes became sad. "Read your letter, Dean. See what Sam has to say. Let him guide you."

Dean grimaced. "And if he doesn't?"

"Do what you _think_ he would want you to do until you are ready to guide yourself. That is all you can do now."

Dean picked up the letter again and sighed.

"I will leave you in peace," Castiel said. "But, Dean, do not forget that I am only ever a prayer away. Always.

Dean tried to force a smile but it felt like a grimace. "Thanks, Cas. I appreciate it. We both always did."

Castiel disappeared and Dean slid his finger under the flap of the envelope. A single sheet of paper slid out. He picked it up with a shaking hand and began to read.

* * *

Castiel sat on a bench in the Keukenhof gardens. He had come here once with Sam and Dean, and he'd chosen the place as it made him feel connected to them as well as God. The sky was just lightening with the dawn, but Castiel could see as clearly in the dimness as he would be able to at midday.

He was staring at a rose, a perfect bloom of his Father's creation, and trying to find the words to make his request.

"Father, hear me please; I need Your help. I don't understand Your will, Lord. You brought me back, You saved me, but why have You not saved Sam? I need to understand. Did You stop me? Was that why I failed?"

Castiel well remembered the agony of the journey through Hell, the shrieks of pain from the souls on the racks and the laughter of the demons. He had flown past them, confident in his mission to save Sam, with his wings spread wide at his back. Then he had come to the Cage and he had rejoiced at his success in making it so far. It was there he had failed. He had tried everything to penetrate its bars, but nothing worked.

The very worst part was what he had seen and heard: Sam's cries of pain and the glimpse of fingers curled around the bars, as if it helped for some part, any part, of him to be free. Castiel had stayed there for what felt like an eternity, though in truth it would only have been a matter of weeks in real time, trying to free Sam, but nothing had worked, and eventually he had surrendered to defeat and left.

The disappointment as he had breached the earth again and flown into the blue sky had been immense. Not only had he desperately wanted Sam to be free, he had wanted to be the one to free him. He wanted to show his gratitude to the man who sacrificed everything to save. He wanted to deliver him to Dean and see the joy of their reunion. He wanted something to ease the suffering of the residents of The Roadhouse and to ease his own pain. He was useless though. An angel returned to the power of Heaven he may be, but he still could not do it.

"Please, Father," he said. "Speak to me. Tell me Your will. I need to understand. Sam gave so much, his life to save, and he should be rewarded with freedom. He needs the aid of Heaven because it is the fault of Heaven that he is there. Exchange my place for his. Please."

He waited, silent and filled with the warmth of prayer, but there was no response. Disappointed in both his own failure to find the words to spur God to speak to him and his failure to save alone, he sighed.

"Why?" he asked, not to God this time but the empty air.

"Because there is always a price," a voice said, "and Sam Winchester is the price of the world."

Castiel's head snapped up and he saw Joshua standing on the other side of the rose bed. He stood but did not move any closer. They would have been able to hear each other clearly a mile apart. "That is not fair," he said.

"The will of God is not always fair, Castiel. You know that better than most."

"But Sam deserves life," Castiel said, impassioned.

"I know," Joshua said sadly. "Perhaps our Father knows that, too, but He will not intervene."

"He intervened for me; He brought me back. Why would He do that for a Fallen but not for Sam?"

"I don't know," Joshua said. "It is not my place to question Him. I merely listen."

"This feels wrong."

"Yes," Joshua said simply.

"What do I do now?" Castiel asked.

"Do what you were brought back to do. Serve Heaven."

"Michael will give me no instruction," Castiel said bitterly. "He will barely accept my presence in Heaven again."

"There are other ways to serve than as a soldier, Castiel. Find a way to live that you think will please Him and the Winchesters both."

"How do I do that?" Castiel asked.

"That is for you to discover, not to be told." Joshua looked at him sympathetically. "I am sorry."

Joshua's tawny wings spread at his back and he took flight away from Castiel.

* * *

Bobby Singer sat on the back porch of his house, a glass of whiskey in his hand and his eyes trained on the sky as it gradually lit up with the sun. He had waited weeks to do this as he hadn't felt ready before then. He knew that this was goodbye, and that was perhaps the very hardest word to say to someone you cared about.

He felt ready now though.

As the sun bloomed in the sky, a spectacular show of orange and pink, he raised his glass and toasted the sunrise. "Thank you, Sam," he said. "Goodbye."

* * *

 **ANGEL OF HURLEYVILLE**

 **Today was an important day in Hurleyville. Construction on the last house for the people displaced by Hurricane Julian was completed. A full year after the storm hit, the Greene family, whose house was destroyed, was given the keys to their new home. Built on the foundations of their previous residence, the house has been built by the team of volunteer workers from Project Rebuild with materials and funds from large corporations and local businesses.**

 **Mayor Harding was given the honor of handing over the keys, and he gave an honor in return. Dean Winchester, former resident of Hurleyville, was given a commendation for services to the community. In the wake of the disaster, Dean returned to the area and joined the team rebuilding. Not only has he spent his days constructing homes for the displaced, he spent evenings volunteering at the relief center and weekends counseling the young victims of the hurricane. A trained social worker, Dean has used his knowledge and kindness to guide the youth of Hurleyville and outlying areas through the process of grief and trauma recovery. Some of the counseled have lost their homes, while others have even lost members of their family.**

" _ **He's an angel,"**_ **says Ruth Barber, who runs the counseling center.** _ **"The kids really respond to him and he works for hours without remuneration. We'd be lost without him."**_

 **The sentiment has been echoed by the site manager of Project Rebuild and Richard Windsor of the relief center.**

 **Dean refused an interview, but we were able to speak with Sonny Antonio, owner of Sonny's Home For Boys, friend and former guardian of Dean.** _ **"Dean is a hero in the truest sense of the word. He's always given for others, and this is just one more way in which he serves the good of people. He's always given and asked nothing in return. I'm proud to know him."**_

 **Reticent in the face of recognition, Dean merely thanked the mayor for the citation and said he would accept it on behalf of everyone who acted for the good of others. It is clear to us that Dean is an exceptional person and we in Hurleyville are lucky to have him among us.**

* * *

Ellen pinned the article Sonny had sent her to the bar wall and smiled slightly as she took in the attached picture of Dean, smiling ruefully as he shook hands with the mayor.

She'd kept up with what he had been doing through their letters and his emails to Ash, and seeing him getting the recognition he deserved for it pleased her, even though she knew he must have hated every minute of the ceremonious occasion. Dean had never been one to accept accolades; no Winchester had.

She sucked in a shaky breath, concentrated, and the tears that wanted to fall stayed behind her lids. She was better at that now, keeping them in. It was good that she was, because she would need it for the coming night. For the first time in a year, Dean, Ellen, Jo, Bobby and Ash were all going to be together again.

She had seen Jo and Ash on a daily basis as they'd stayed with to her, and Bobby had made the trip to The Roadhouse a few times, but she hadn't seen Dean since he'd walked out. She would now speak to him properly for the first time.

It had been Jo's idea to gather for Sam's birthday, a notion Ellen wouldn't have been able to consider even only a few months ago, but when Jo had approached her with the idea, tentative and tearful, Ellen had acquiesced.

They'd never had any kind of ceremony for Sam. There was no body to burn, so they'd not had that opportunity to lay him to rest. That was right in a way, because he wasn't resting, he was…

She concentrated again and the tears were forced back.

They all needed this, Ellen not least of all. They were going to gather, drink, remember, and mourn. It felt to Ellen that she had been mourning a lifetime. She had lost so much so many times over. There had to be a limit eventually for what a person could take. She wondered when she would reach hers, if she hadn't already. She certainly didn't feel whole anymore. She wasn't the same woman who had said goodbye to John Winchester all those years ago.

There were reasons to keep living though: Jo, Ash, Dean, Sam's memory. They were the things that kept her going, Jo more than anyone. Jo had lost her brother. She needed her mother and Ellen needed her. Jo knew that, too, Ellen was sure, as she hadn't left. Even months after Sam had been lost, Jo stayed at the bar, working the taps with Ellen. She didn't even talk about hunting, for which Ellen was grateful. She didn't think she would ever have even a semblance of peace if Jo was out there, risking herself now.

Sam wasn't mentioned by outsiders anymore. The story of her shooting Kubrick had spread among the community, and no one in the bar spoke of him, good or bad. His presence was still there, though. The table he had claimed for himself and then for them all was left empty most of the time as a mark of respect.

Ellen wasn't stupid. She knew that, as much as she had loved Sam, he hadn't been a saint. He'd upset people, ignored some and used others to achieve his ends, but those ends had always served someone else, not him. He had been a good man, a hero. He'd saved the world.

"Mom?" Jo said gently beside her. "Are you okay?"

Ellen realized the tears she had been masterfully controlling had crept out without her realizing. She wiped a hand across her face to clear the wetness and forced a smile.

"I'm okay, honey. Just thinking."

There was no need for Jo to ask what she was thinking. It was what they were both thinking of today.

"What time's Dean coming?" Jo asked.

"He said he'll be here around five. He's going to meet with Bobby on the road to eat before coming."

"Mom, it's five now," Jo said.

Ellen glanced at the clock on the wall. She'd come into the bar to pin up the article, wanting everyone to see it, thirty minutes ago. Had she really spent all that time since lost in thought? It was an exceptionally difficult day, but she thought she'd handle it better than that.

"Oh," she said. "I guess we should get stuff ready."

"I'll do it," Jo said. "You sit."

Ellen allowed Jo to lead her to a chair and she sat down, her hands clasped on the tabletop, watching her daughter as she leaned over the bar to retrieve a bottle of whiskey. It hurt Ellen's heart to watch. It was just what Sam used to do. She wondered if Jo was even aware of it.

Ash came in and set his laptop down on the counter and then moved around the bar to collect glasses for them. Ellen watched and tried to brace herself for what was to come. She was still trying when she heard the sound of the Impala approaching. Color drained from her face. That sound…

"They're here," Jo said, walking to the door to unlock it.

Ellen stood, gripping the table hard, and took a breath. It was okay. It was Dean and Bobby. It was for Sam. She could handle it.

* * *

"Are you going to be able to handle this?" Bobby asked.

Dean was staring up at the frontage of The Roadhouse, feeling like he was choking on the emotions that rose up his throat. He nodded though and dragged his eyes to meet Bobby's concerned ones. "I'll be fine."

He'd not been able to give Jo an answer straight away when she'd asked if he was willing to come for a gathering to mark Sam's birthday. He'd needed to think about it for a few days, talking it out with Sonny, before he called her back. He'd had one more question before he agreed. Was Ellen willing, too? Was she ready? He thought if she could handle it, he could, too.

Jo reassured him that she could, so he had made arrangements to take time away from his counseling duties and set out for Nebraska. He'd taken the drive slowly, making it last days, to give himself time to prepare.

It had felt strange to be alone on the highways, and he'd not driven the Impala in months. He used Sonny's truck to get around in Hurleyville, leaving the Impala under a tarpaulin in the barn. He'd not been sure the truck would make the journey though, and he'd thought maybe Ellen and the others would appreciate seeing the Impala on the road where it belonged again. It had made his heart ache though.

But he was there now, and it was time to face his past and loss properly.

He took a deep breath and then made for the door. It was ajar and he pushed it open slowly. Jo was just inside, her expression nervous. He wondered what she had expected to see in him and whether he met those expectations.

"Hello, Jo," he said, pleased to hear the steady quality of his voice.

"Hey, Dean."

He opened his arms to her and she stepped into his embrace. He had not held her since the day she cried for Sam, and the memory pierced him for a moment as the scent of her perfume and the feel of her made his mind spin back to that awful day. He stiffened and she pulled back. He quickly smiled, a little sadly, and she returned it.

She turned to greet Bobby and Dean looked across the room to the one other person he believed truly understood how he felt. Ellen looked exhausted and sad. She wasn't the same inconsolable woman she had been when he'd last seen her, but he could tell time hadn't healed her wounds any more than it had his. As he started toward her slowly, a tear slid down her cheek. He wondered what she was seeing. Was it the same pain in him that she felt? Did his presence hurt her because he reminded her of what they had lost?

She came forward to meet him, her gait not completely steady, and he brought his arms up to hold her. She wrapped her arms around him and hid her face against his shoulder, her breaths stuttering against him.

"I know," Dean whispered. "I know." He felt the same way. It hurt to be here, to see her, but at the same time it felt right, as if they had let Sam down by being apart for so long. Their mourning had each been done without the other and Sam wouldn't have wanted that.

She pulled back and said, "I missed you so much."

"I missed you, too," he admitted. "I'm sorry for being gone so long."

Ash clapped him on the shoulder and Dean shook his hand. "Hey, man," Ash said. "Good to see you."

"You, too," Dean replied, and he meant it. It was good to see these people; they were all family.

Jo cracked the seal on the bottle of whiskey on the table and poured five glasses. She handed them around and then took one herself. Her voice choked, she said, "To Sam."

Dean forced back his tears and saw from the concentrated look on Ellen's face that she was doing the same. "Sam," he echoed.

* * *

As the night wore on, the mood became less melancholy. Though the object of the evening had been to mark Sam's birthday, and Bobby had thought that would be done through tears and sadness, they celebrated his life instead. There were tears, of course, but there were also smiles of remembrance and expressions of love, even some laughter.

Ellen and Jo shared some of their memories of Sam as a child and young man, the years Dean and Bobby had missed, and Dean told them tales of Sam's youngest years when he had been there. He told a story of Sam's obsession with space, and though Ellen, Ash and Jo had apparently heard the story before, they laughed with him again.

Dean was telling another story of their youth, and Bobby was listening, thinking of their missing member. "We were in yet another grungy ass motel," Dean said. "The only thing it had going for it was cable and the late movie. So, Dad's only been away a few days and we're still in the happy phase of being left alone; we hadn't started worrying. One night I'm bored, and Sam's going through a stage of not wanting to go to bed till I did, so I let him watch the movie with me. It was The Shining."

"How old was he?" Ellen asked curiously.

"Ten," Dean said, sounding apologetic. "Way too young, but I didn't know until it was too late. So, Sam gets through the whole movie like a trooper, and I'm thinking, _'my brother rocks'_ until the next morning. I wake up to find him curled in a ball beside me, fast asleep. For the rest of the two weeks we spent there, I would wake up to Sam sleeping next to me. Poor kid had the piss scared out of him." He looked pensive. "The first hunt we took after I rejoined the life was in Colorado. I said we should stay in The Stanley Hotel—the King connection, you know? He was… well, he was Sam about it, but we made a deal to stay there sometime. Would have been cool."

Ellen nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah."

Jo perked up. "I've got one. Okay. We were like fifteen and thirteen, Sam seemed to be racing ahead, growing up faster than me, and I was scared of being left behind, so I started following him everywhere."

"I remember that," Ellen said fondly. "Drove him just about crazy."

Jo nodded. "Yeah. I didn't care though. He was _my_ Sam; I figured that I had some claim on him. Anyway, there was this family staying in town for the summer, house-sitting or visiting relatives or something. They had this daughter… She was pretty and red-haired and older, and everything I thought I wanted to be. Sam was smitten. They would meet at Debbie's Diner and share milkshakes like they were children of the fifties or something. This one time they were taking a walk together around the farm roads and I followed. They were holding hands and talking, and suddenly Bree, that was her name, pulled him to a stop and kissed him. There's me hiding behind a tree like a creeper watching them making out, and thinking any minute Sam's going to see me and freak."

"Did he?" Ash asked eagerly.

"No," Jo said. "They finished making out and carried on home. ButI was so mad at him. Like I said, he wasmySam, and that girl, who was everything I wanted to be, was kissing him. It wasn't that I liked him like _that_ even. It was her I was jealous of and I made it about Sam." She shook her head. "So I wait till we're back home and she's gone, and I go storming up to Sam in all my thirteen year old glory and demand that he kiss me, too."

"Hold on," Ellen said. "Are you telling me Sam _kissed_ you?"

Jo laughed softly. "He did something far worse, at least it was worse for me. He bent down—and I'm so sure he's going to do it, right—and he kissed my cheek. He stands up straight again and says, serious as anything, _'One day I'll find you someone that deserves a kiss'."_ Her tone became plaintive. "He didn't."

Ellen nodded sadly. "He didn't have long enough, not long enough at all."

Bobby cleared his throat gruffly and Dean sniffed.

"Have I told you about Sam and Rumsfeld?" Bobby asked, wanting to break the moment of grief that had settled over them again.

"Rumsfeld?" Ellen asked.

Dean smiled. "Bobby's Rottweiler. Most ridiculous guard dog I ever met."

"He wasn't ridiculous when I got him," Bobby said defensively. "I got him from a breeder that specialized in guard dogs. I did it all proper, checked the bitch and father first, and they were fierce and feisty. The pup seemed to be working towards the same attitude. I thought it was perfect. Couple days after I get him home, your daddy arrives on my doorstep with Sam. Rumsfeld takes one look at John and tries to eat through his boot, barking and growling fit to bust. Then Sam comes along, twelve years old and butter wouldn't melt. I'm getting ready to send Rumsfeld out to the yard, thinking Sam will be scared, then, swear to God, Sam picks the beast up and Rumsfeld starts licking his face like he's coated in kibble." He laughed. "Me and John are just standing there watching this dog go to town on Sam, and Sam's laughing so hard. Well, John picks his jaw up off the ground and you can guess the rest, he tells Sam to be good and drives off. Sam spent the next few weeks with Rumsfeld following him around like he was the Pied Piper of stupid pups."

Ellen smiled fondly. "He always did like dogs. We had a few come through here with customers and he charmed them, too."

Bobby nodded. "By the time John came back to pick Sam up, I had a guard dog that would roll over and shake on command, practically dance for sausages, and lick a man to death. Damn, did I look stupid. He died a few years later, some intestinal thing. Damn shame. He was young"

"Young," Ellen said dolefully.

Bobby realized what he said a moment too late and he bowed his head. Yes, too young, and a damn shame.

"You ever hear the story of me and Sam's first meeting?" Ash asked.

Bobby and Dean shook their heads.

Ellen smiled slightly. "I forgot about that."

Ash nodded, "So, I've been booted from MIT and I'm touring the country as a… I think vagrant is the word. I am hacking and transferring money around courtesy of the big banks, keeping myself in beer and beds, when I stumble across this place. I like it, so I stick around a few weeks, loving the atmosphere…"

"And not batting an eyelid at the weapons being bandied around," Ellen added.

"Yeah," Ash said. "It's a cool place, so I hang. One night I pass out on the pool table, and Ellen lets me be. It becomes a habit, and I get real comfy. I start pulling out the laptop and doing my work in the open. A few hunters ask for help with cases, and I realize there's this whole other world I'm clueless about. I start asking around, and a few people tell me a few things, but largely it's like they're trying to protect me." He sighed. "Then Sam comes in. He's around sixteen, and boy is he intense. Kinda freaked me out at first. One night, I'm drunk, John is talking with another hunter in the corner, and Sam's talking with me. He finds out I was at MIT and he is full of questions. What's college like? How hard is it? Why'd I leave? I start telling him in exchange for information of my own. For every question I answer about college life, he tells me something about the hunting world." He smiled, lost in nostalgia. "There's me, learning about the real world of hunting, and Sam learning about the world beyond it." He shook his head. "In another life maybe."

Bobby swiped at his eyes. He'd heard the story of Sam's acceptance to Stanford from Ellen and now he saw where the impetus had come from. Ash, of all people, had made him see there was another life out there for him. He'd never experienced it though, because of John damned Winchester and his hunt for The Demon. He couldn't have known what it would cost his son, but Bobby still blamed him for his part in what had happened to both the boys: the one who had given up his life for the world and the one who had been left behind.

There was silence for a moment, and Bobby was sure all thoughts were in the same place as his—the life Sam could have led—then there was a rustling sound.

Bobby turned in his seat and saw Castiel standing behind him.

"Cas!" Dean said startled. "I didn't know you were coming… You… What's happened?"

Bobby saw it, too. Castiel's eyes were wide and wild. His whole body seemed to crackle with energy. He had never seen the angel like this before.

"Castiel?" Bobby prompted.

The angel cleared his throat and spoke into the silence. "Sam is back."

* * *

 **So… This chapter was a really tough one to write. It felt important to see how the others dealt with the fallout of Sam's jump but at the same time I was so damn eager to get Sam back into the story. This is the result. What did you think?**

 **There was inspiration for and a theme to the pre-article scenes of this chapter. Did you catch it?**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for working your beta magic on this for me. Thank you SandraEngstrom2 and Gredelina1 for all your help. And finally thank you all for the wonderful supportive reviews for the first chapter.**

 **Because you're all awesome, I figured you should get an early update.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Two**_

Cold breath rasped into empty lungs. Some animal instinct took over, dragging air in and out while his mind reeled.

Something was wrong. Something had changed. The air that he pulled in didn't freeze his lungs, didn't stink of sulfur. It felt fresh and cool; it smelled of grass and rain.

When his breaths settled into something calmer, he paid attention to his other senses. He was lying on something soft and damp. Cold droplets peppered his exposed skin and he shivered slightly. He opened his eyes and looked up. He was looking into a dark sky blanketed with stars. His hands at his sides fisted in the muddy grass. It was cool and soft against his palms, real, but if this was real, that meant…

"Dammit, Dean," he groaned.

Someone laughed. His head snapped to the side and he scrambled to his feet, swaying slightly at the change in position.

"Not Dean so much as me."

Sam's breath caught in his throat and he coughed. "Gabriel!"

The archangel spread his arms and bowed. "The one and only."

"But… why?" Sam asked.

Gabriel's eyes bored into Sam, seeming to be seeing right through him, "Because, this time, you really have been punished."

"Punished! You ruined the world because you think I've been punished enough?"

Gabriel laughed. "Ruined the world! You really think I'd do that for you? No, Sam, I'm not you. I have ruined nothing. The world's still turning, Luci is still trapped, and you're not. Unlike some I could mention, I actually know what I am doing."

Sam's mind seemed to be working two steps behind the conversation. "You saved me?"

"Wow, you're slow today. Yes, I saved you."

"And Lucifer is still in the Cage?"

"Do I look like an idiot? Of course Lucifer is still trapped." He shook his head dolefully. "I'm starting to think I left what little intelligence you had down there with him. Let me break it down for you. Sam: free. Lucifer: trapped. World: not ending. You with me?"

Sam nodded mutely, trying to take it all in. He was out, he was actually out.

"Dean," he whispered.

"There it is," Gabriel said, satisfied. "The Winchester I know and… well, loathe is such a strong word."

Sam barely heard him. His mind was occupied with the fact of his freedom and what it meant.

"And here she comes," Gabriel said, turning to the gate. "Sam Winchester, here's your ride. I'm off. Be good. Don't break the world again." With that he disappeared.

Sam's eyes moved to the gate and he squinted, trying to make out the stout figure approaching, picking her way over the knots of grass. As she drew closer, he recognized her.

"Missouri?"

"Oh, child, look at you," she said breathlessly.

"What…? How…?"

"Boy, you have no idea how long I've been waiting for this," she said. "I thought that foolish archangel was going to leave you there forever."

To Sam it felt like he had, but he couldn't care, not now when he was breathing in free air and feeling the earth beneath his feet.

Missouri reached him and she tugged his arm. "Come on. I got everything you need."

"Dean?" he asked because that was what he needed: Dean, Ellen, Jo… All of them. All the people he loved.

"Not just yet," she said. Sam started to protest, but she spoke over him. "I know you need to see him, but you don't want him seeing you like this, believe me. We'll get you cleaned up, maybe calmed down a little, and then we'll get you to him." She saw his hesitation and said, "It's better this way, Sam."

Sam trusted her. He followed her meekly to a rust spotted Volvo and slid into the shotgun seat with a blanket between him and the upholstery. Missouri patted his leg and started the engine.

She chattered as they drove the short distance from Stull to her house but Sam barely heard her. He was consumed with the view out of the windshield. Trees, fields, a grain silo, then houses, stores, a diner. It was all so different to what he had been seeing for the last… He didn't even know how long it had been. It had felt like an eternity.

"Around twelve months," Missouri said. "In fact," she glanced over at him and smiled, "happy Birthday, Sam."

* * *

 _The angel cleared his throat and spoke into the silence. "Sam is back."_

Dean lurched to his feet, sending his chair crashing back to hit the floor. He didn't even notice. He was rounding the table and making for Castiel. "What? What did you say?"

Castiel seemed to be almost buzzing with energy. When Dean's hand came up to his shoulder, he almost expected to feel the static. "Sam is back," Castiel said again, his smile wide and eyes alive with happiness.

Dean's grip on the angel was all that held him up. Someone had righted his fallen chair and nudged it behind him, pushing him gently into it. He heard a voice, but it came to him as if from a long distance away. He wiped a shaking hand over his face and it came away wet. Someone ducked into his line of sight and he blinked, bringing Bobby's face into focus.

"Bobby?" he said in a breathy voice.

The older hunter nodded and squeezed his shoulders. "You going to pass out on me?"

Dean considered. It wasn't out of the realm of possibility. His head felt echoey and light. He couldn't let himself though. He needed to know what was happening. He shook his head and cleared his throat, noticing now that his breaths were coming too fast. He forced himself to take a couple of deep inhalations and some of the dizziness receded.

"When you say back do you mean just out of the Cage or actually here?" Bobby asked, his voice steady but demanding.

Castiel opened his mouth and then hesitated. "I am not certain."

Bobby's eyes bugged and he gestured to Dean. "Don't you think you should have found out first?"

"He has to be out," a weak voice said. "He has to be."

Dean looked to Ellen and saw she was still seated. Jo was standing behind her with hands on her mother's shoulders. Dean thought they were all that was keeping her upright. She was pale and he could see the tremors rocking through her. He wondered if he looked that bad.

"What _exactly_ do you know?" Bobby asked in a measured tone.

"I heard on angel radio," Castiel said, " _Sam Winchester is free'._ It is almost the same call I gave when I rescued Dean and it was echoed by all angels. It happened again today."

"Almost," Bobby said in a musing tone.

"Bobby?" Dean said tentatively. "What do you…."

Bobby looked apologetic. "I'm just thinking. Sam wasn't just in Hell; he was in the Cage. For all we know 'Sam Winchester is free' means he's out of the Cage and in Heaven." He looked mournful. "He died when he took that dive. If he was freed of the Cage, the logical place for him to go next is Heaven."

"No," Ellen moaned. "He can't."

It wasn't the worst possible outcome. Sam deserved Heaven. It was, as Castiel once said, to be their reward, but Dean… Dean wanted him back.

"What do you think, Cas?" Jo asked. "Is he _back_ or there?"

"I don't know," Castiel said, sounding almost angry. "It depends who freed him. If—" Suddenly, he cut off, his head snapping up and his gaze becoming distant.

"Cas?" Dean said, a flicker of worry making him shiver.

He didn't reply. He disappeared.

"What the hell?" Jo shouted.

Dean sank back into his chair, boneless. He didn't know what to say or even feel. He was in shock. Castiel had just poofed out on what was possibly the most important conversation of his life.

"How could he?" Jo asked stridently. "I know he doesn't always get the whole social skills thing, but even he should know you don't leave a conversation like that! How are we supposed to find Sam now? What do we even do?"

"I think your first job is to get me a beer," a voice said from the other side of the room.

Dean's heart failed. He actually felt it stutter and stop in his chest. It could only have been a matter of a handful of missed beats, but in that moment he thought he could die and not care because _that_ voice would be the last thing he heard.

He turned and saw the miracle standing by the bar. Sam's smile was wider than Dean had ever seen in life and his eyes danced with happiness.

Jo shrieked, running at Sam and throwing herself into his arms. He caught her and lifted her bodily into the air. He swung her from side to side and then set her on her feet to receive Ellen who was making her way over to him on unsteady legs. She reached up and cupped his cheeks in her hands, her eyes wide and disbelieving.

"Sam?" she breathed.

"I'm here. I'm home." He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his chest. She began to sob and Sam held her tighter, his mouth moving with words Dean couldn't hear. Ellen clung to him for a long time, and Dean watched their reunion feeling almost sick with the emotions coursing through him. He was so happy, exultant, but so scared this wasn't real. His hands fisted and his fingernails dug into his palms. The pain cut through him, reassuring, real.

Sam gently released Ellen and handed her into Jo's arms. The two women clung to each other for a moment and then parted, Ellen's arm around her daughter's shoulders and both their gazes fixed on Sam.

Sam smiled at them and then turned to Dean. It was like the world stopped. Dean was blind to everyone else in the room but his brother, and there was no sound but his name on Sam's lips. He wasn't aware of crossing the room, but then Sam's strong arms were around him, crushing him against his chest so tightly he could feel Sam's racing heartbeat. He didn't even realize he was crying until Sam began to shush him, his own voice constricted.

"It's okay," he said. "It's all going to be okay. I'm here."

Dean clung to him a little tighter and let himself believe that what Sam said was true. It was all going to be okay now. He was back.

* * *

Bobby watched the reunion and he felt a surge of joy such as he hadn't experienced since Dean had been saved.

When Dean and Sam finally parted, Sam walked across the room with a hand extended to Bobby. Bobby took it and Sam pulled him into a one-armed hug, slapped his back, and then stepped back. "Good to see you, Bobby."

"You too," Bobby said with a breathy laugh. "Damn good."

Jo handed Sam a bottle of beer and he took it with a grateful smile and hand on her shoulder. Then Ash approached and slapped Sam on the back, making him jostle. Sam laughed and grinned at his friend. "Hey. Ash."

"Man, I don't even know…" Ash started.

"Right there with you," Sam said.

Ellen curled her arm around Sam's waist and said, "Come sit down, honey."

Sam took a seat, Ellen claiming the chair on his left and Jo his right. Jo quickly rested her head against Sam's shoulder, looking peaceful and happy. Sam smiled fondly at her and took a swig of his beer as Dean, Bobby and Ash took seats. Castiel was suddenly there again and stood awkwardly in the background for a few moments before pulling a seat from the next table and joining them.

"How did this happen?" Ellen asked.

"Gabriel," Sam said.

Castiel's eyes widened. "Gabriel?"

Sam nodded. "I woke up topside in Stull and he was standing there."

"Why would he do it?" Dean asked.

Sam scrubbed a hand over his face, looking thoughtful. "He said it's because _'this time'_ I've been punished."

"Punished!" Ellen said angrily. "Son of a bitch left you there a year as punishment?"

Bobby's lips parted in shock as his mind presented him the fact of Sam's year. Not twelve months of Hell. If time in the Cage worked the same way as Dean said the Pit did, Sam had been there over a hundred years!

He looked at him sharply, almost expecting to see hell-fire in Sam's eyes. There was no fire, but Bobby thought he could see something in their depths that showed where he had been and what he'd been through. His face, though, his smile, was like Bobby had never seen. He was so happy, happier than Bobby had seen since he was a child. He realized this was Sam without the weight of the world on his shoulders. He wasn't hurting now. He wasn't weighed down by his father's sacrifice, by Dean's, by Lilith and the seals, by Lucifer. This was Sam as a man when he could just appreciate the wonderful thing that was his freedom. It made Bobby's throat swell as he recognized just how broken Sam had been before.

"It's okay," Sam said, patting Ellen's hand. "I'm out now."

"Still," Ellen said. "If he shows up, I'm shooting him again."

Jo scowled. "I'll load the gun for you."

"Really, guys," Sam said, happy, free, "let's just be grateful he did it."

"Yeah," Dean said fervently. "Thank God he did."

Sam smiled at him and took another draw on his beer. He wiped his mouth and said, "So, what did I miss?"

* * *

"No!" Ellen said loudly, drawing all eyes to her. She shook her head and pointed a finger at Sam. "Not today, Sam. Today is about you being back. We're not talking hunting."

She wanted a day with her son back in which they could just be happy, to enjoy having him there. Was that too much to ask? In truth she would like a year of time to just enjoy his return before they even thought of the outside world again. Even that wouldn't feel like long enough after a year without him.

"Okay," Sam agreed without argument, surprising her and the others around the table if the raised eyebrows were anything to go by. "So, tell me what you've all been doing."

Ellen seized on the question. She got to her feet, patted his shoulder and then walked around the bar to retrieve the article she'd pinned there. She brought it back to the table and handed it to Sam, sitting close enough that their arms were bushing against each other. She relished the contact, reassuring herself that he was still there.

Sam read the article, his smile growing with each word. "Dean," he said quietly as he finished, "this is awesome."

Dean looked embarrassed and addressed Ellen. "How do you even have this?"

"Sonny sent it to me," she said, unabashed. "His letter said he wanted me to see why you hadn't been back."

Sam frowned. "You haven't been here at all?"

Dean shook his head and his eyes seemed to implore Sam to understand. If anyone should get it, it was Sam. He'd fled from them all too after Dean was gone. At least Dean had stayed in touch when they were apart.

For another moment, Sam looked unhappy, and then he shook his head and the frown fell away as he waved the article. "This, though, this is awesome. I didn't know you knew construction."

"I didn't," Dean admitted. "I started out making the coffee, then nailing sheet rock, and I learned the rest from there."

Sam looked so pleased, so happy, so proud of his brother, it warmed Ellen's heart. This was Sam as he had been the day his acceptance letter arrived. From there things had been hard. Even after Dean had come back into his life, he hadn't been like this because of all his other cares.

"What about the rest of you?" Sam asked, his eyes wide and excited. "Anyone else been building houses?"

"Not so much with the building," Jo said. "We helped some of the displaced with fixing their finance stuff and insurance. Me and Ash spent a while helping out at the rescue center immediately after the storm."

Ellen smiled at her daughter proudly. To her shame, she hadn't known what Jo was doing at the time. She'd been so consumed by her anger-fed grief. It was later that Jo told her what had been happening. She had nothing of pride to admit about herself. She was the only one. She knew Bobby had been out on the job, saving people. Running a bar for hunters seemed pretty frivolous compared to that. She hoped Sam wouldn't call her on it.

Sam's eyes fell on her and he said, "Business good?"

She nodded. "Yeah. It's been busy."

"Good," Sam said.

Suddenly, Jo laughed. "We're down one customer though. Haven't seen Kubrick in months."

Sam turned to Ellen. "You banned him?"

Jo laughed harder and Bobby, who must have heard the story on the grapevine, chuckled.

"Mom shot him!" Jo said joyfully. "Right in the leg."

Sam's eyes widened. "You did?"

Ellen shrugged. "He pissed me off."

Sam didn't ask what he'd done, but she thought she saw understanding in his eyes. Kubrick wasn't a bad man, and in hindsight she could have dealt with him some other way, but she couldn't deny it had done the job. No one badmouthed Sam after that.

"Heard he walks with a limp now," Bobby said dryly.

There was a moment of silence and then they all laughed, Ellen included. Then she felt her laughter change into something more; tears began to fall, and though she was still laughing, it wasn't amusement; it was hysteria. She was overwhelmed with happiness and relief, and it hit her in a way she couldn't control.

"Give us a minute," Sam said as though from a long distance away, and she heard the scraping of chairs and footsteps as people left the room.

Warm, strong arms wrapped around her and she leaned into Sam's embrace. "It's okay," he said gently. "Really, Ellen, it's all okay now. I'm home. I promise I won't leave you again."

She pulled back and looked him in the eyes. "You promise?"

He smiled. "I won't leave again. That's over now. We're all going to be okay."

He leaned forward and kissed her forehead and she closed her eyes. She knew Sam hadn't always told her the truth, he hid things, but this time she thought she could trust him. He might not always stay with her, but he wouldn't willingly _leave_ her again.

* * *

Reluctantly and after much reassurance that he would stay, Ellen, Jo and Ash gave in to exhaustion and went to bed, leaving Sam, Dean and Bobby in the bar.

"You know," Sam said conversationally, "I'm surprised no one wanted to run checks. I know you've been busy being the Angel of Hurleyville"—he nudged Dean's shoulder—"but you should know better."

"You're Sam," Dean said simply and Bobby nodded.

Sam took a draw on his bottle of beer. "I am, but I thought at least you'd be as paranoid as the man I left behind, Bobby."

"You _want_ us to run checks?" Bobby asked.

"No thanks."

"Then what're you bitching for?" Bobby's eyes twinkled, taking any heat from the words.

Sam laughed. The sound was almost jarring as it was so new to them all now. It had been a long time since they'd heard him laugh. Even before he was… gone… it hadn't been a regular occurrence. Dean just let the sound fill him, reassuring himself that Sam really was back and he was happy.

"There's something you should have noticed though," he said.

Dean's concerned gaze snapped to him. "There is?"

"Yeah." Sam pulled down the collar of his shirt, exposing his throat.

Dean frowned for a moment, trying to work out what Sam wanted him to see. It took him a moment to realize it was the lack of something that was being shown. "Your scar!"

Sam grinned as Bobby craned closer to get a better look. "Yeah. It's gone. They're all gone. It's like Gabriel gave me a full body reboot while he was there. I'm a blank canvas again."

Dean knew that Sam had never cared about his scars except the one on his throat as that had been inconvenient to hide, but he was thrilled his brother's skin was no longer a map of his suffering.

"Okay, boys," Bobby said, pushing away from the table. "I've going to crash. Can't stay up all night drinking the way I used to."

"Old man," Dean teased.

Bobby nodded seriously. "You have no idea."

"Take my bed," Sam said. "There's no way I'm sleeping tonight."

Bobby thanked him, patted Sam's shoulder, and then walked into the back.

Sam downed the last of his beer and said, "Another?"

Dean considered and nodded. "Why not? There has to be some blood left in my body that's not been replaced with alcohol already."

Sam chuckled as he leaned over the bar to grab two more bottles of beer. Dean was reminded of the first time he had come to The Roadhouse as an adult, when Sam had been practically a stranger. It seemed incredible that this was the same man who had sat down at Dean's table, chair pulled back as far as he could, and said, _"I guess we should talk."_ The difference was vast. Sam had been so closed off then, so unhappy, so hard. He was so happy now, freer, lighter. The difference elated Dean.

Sam glanced at the clock as he brought the bottle to Dean and said, "You want to go outside a while?"

"Sure," Dean said, getting to his feet and following Sam out of the door. Sam made straight for the Impala and ran a hand over the hood as if in greeting. Dean grinned, knowing it was no longer, _'Just a car.'_

Sam leaned back against the hood and looked out across the fields that bordered The Roadhouse. The last time Dean had been there, they'd been stripped by the tornado. They were young, green and fresh now. It was a reassuring sight, reinforcing the fact to Dean that sometimes life returned to the world if given time. Just like the houses he'd been building in New York, people here were rebuilding what they'd lost.

"Deep thoughts?" Sam asked.

"Just thinking about the changes," Dean said. "How different things are now."

Sam rubbed a hand over his chin. "Yeah, it's definitely different."

For a moment, Dean hesitated on the verge of asking him if he wanted to talk about Hell and what he'd been through, but Sam's smile was so wide, so free, that he couldn't bring himself to make it disappear again. When Sam was ready, when he wanted to talk about Hell, Dean would be there. Until then, he would enjoy his happiness.

* * *

When Ellen entered the kitchen the next morning, Jo and Bobby were sitting at the table drinking coffee, Ash was at the counter, and Sam and Dean were nowhere in sight.

"Where are the boys?" she asked.

Bobby nodded to the back door. "Out walking or running or some other stupidity. I think they're still drunk."

Ellen smiled fondly. "That's good. I want to talk to you all, and I don't want them hearing."

Jo nudged Bobby with an elbow. "Told ya."

"What did you tell him?" Ellen asked.

Ash turned and leaned back against the counter. "That you're going to say we shouldn't tell Sam and Dean what's been going on."

"Oh," Ellen said, surprised. "Well, you're right. I don't want them stressed. They've done enough, been through enough. They deserve a little peace."

"I'm not arguing that," Bobby said, raising his hands. "But they're going to find out eventually, you know."

"What are they supposed to do? He's unstoppable." Ellen countered. "If even Michael can't…"

"I don't know," Bobby said. "But I don't doubt they'd try."

"Exactly!" Ellen snapped. "We've lost both of them before already. We're not doing it again. _I'm_ not. If we keep our damn mouths shut, make sure Castiel does the same, we can give them peace. Tell me they don't deserve that."

"We can't," Jo said softly. "Okay. I'm in. I won't tell them anything."

Ellen nodded, satisfied. "Good. Ash?"

"You know me," Ash said, "I just do what I'm told."

That Ellen did know. It was Bobby who was the figurative loose cannon. She fixed her eyes on him.

"I won't say anything," he agreed. "I do think they deserve a little peace, but, Ellen, you have to know they'll find out eventually."

She glowered. "As long as it doesn't come from any of us, I can live with that."

Her boys deserved peace and they deserved rest. They didn't need to know the mess the world was in, that it was careening down a dark path. Again.

* * *

 **So… I don't think I have ever smiled so much editing a chapter as much as I did this one. The reunion and almost all that follows it the happiest writing I've done in a while. Hope you guys had some smiles, too.**

 **I posted a one-shot a yesterday. It's called Forgiveness and it's a Bobby & Sam feature story based on 6.16 - And Then There Was One **

**Summary:** Even Sam knew there were just some things you couldn't apologize away. Bobby could look into the earnest and apologetic eyes and remember them with no emotion. He could remember a raised knife. Had Dean not come back in time… Bobby just couldn't forgive and forget. Not until he heard the gunshot echoing back along the corridor from the direction Sam was in.

 **Give it a look if you are so inclined.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you Jenjoremy for working your magic on this for me, and SandraEngstrom2 and Gredelina1 for all your help.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Three**_

Sam was in the barn stacking crates of veggies ready for Sonny to take to the farmer's market the next day when he heard his name being called. He brushed off his hands and went outside to see Sonny crossing the yard towards him.

"Hey," he greeted and then frowned as he saw Sonny's tense expression. "What's up?"

"Have you seen Jacob?" Sonny asked.

"No. I've been in the barn most of the morning."

The older man gave a frustrated sigh. "He's run off again. He was supposed to be working in the kitchen as punishment for yesterday's stunt, but when I went to tell him to clock off, he was gone."

Jacob was a new kid at Sonny's place, fourteen years old and a real hellion. The day before he'd highjacked the truck and gone off-road driving on the fields, chewing up a crop of potatoes that would have been good to harvest in a couple months. Sonny had been mad not only at the reckless destruction but also because he'd taken one of the younger kids along with him on some kind of dare.

Sam sighed. "The cars all here still?"

"Yeah. I've been keeping the truck keys on me, and Ruth's Nissan is still there. And, as you know, Dean's got your ride."

"Then he couldn't have gotten far," Sam said calmly. "You want me to take the fields or the roads?"

"You take the fields," Sonny said. "You're a damn sight faster on your feet than I am."

"Okay," Sam said. "I've got my cell in case you find him."

"Me, too. And, Sam, if you do track him down, go easy on him."

"Not a problem," Sam said. "I'll just grab some water." The day was hot, and if the kid had been on the run a while, he was going to need a drink.

"Thank you, Sam," Sonny said gratefully. They walked back toward the house together, separating when Sonny climbed into the truck and Sam went on into the kitchen. Ruth was working at the stove and she turned to Sam as he entered and opened the fridge. "Jacob has run again," she said, looking pinched and annoyed.

"I'm just going to look for him," Sam replied.

"That boy needs Jesus," she stated.

Sam bit back a smile and looked seriously at her. "Don't we all?" He let the fridge door swing closed and went out again, the bottles of water in his hands.

He liked Ruth despite her propensity to prescribe religion to everyone who posed a difficulty. He could remember her extolling the benefits of Jesus for him when he'd come to Sonny's the first time. Sam didn't think he'd ever passed a word between with the older woman before he and Dean had arrived two weeks ago.

Sam had been insistent that Dean finish properly with his kids this time. He didn't want him stepping away from them like he had last time, leaving kids like Mitch behind. Dean had been more than happy to agree, and they'd decided that Sam would make the trip to New York with him and stay with Sonny while Dean did what needed to be done.

Surprisingly, Ellen hadn't argued. He'd expected her to protest that he'd said he wouldn't leave again—though that hadn't been what he'd meant when he made the promise. She had supported the idea though, encouraged it even, and the day they'd packed up and left for Sonny's, she bid them both farewell with hugs and promises to come back only when they were ready.

Actually leaving The Roadhouse had been an interesting experience. Though Sam had been back a few days, he hadn't ventured out into the bar to show his return. He'd not wanted to deal with questions. He decided the point of exit was the best time to make his return public, leaving Ash to enjoy his gossip. He and Dean had shouldered their duffels and walked through the busy bar that afternoon, calm and smiling as the absolute silence that had fallen with his appearance ended by a glass being dropped to smash on the floor. It had been fun even, especially as Sam was sure a portion of them hadn't been that happy to see him back.

Their arrival at Sonny's had been interesting, too. Though Dean had called ahead and had a long conversation with Sonny, explaining Sam's mysterious return, there had still been a massive amount of shock on his face. It hadn't ended there. There were a few more surprises in store, some good, some bad.

Mitch was Sonny's latest success story. He was away at college in Boston, due back soon for summer. Russ, the kid Sam had ran from the approaching storm with, was still there, a year older but still too young to be away from family—though Dean explained sometimes it was for the best with these kids' families. Though the kids hadn't been told about Sam's death, Russ hadn't been able to hide his shock at the reappearance of the 'Hurricane Man'. Apparently, he and a couple others who had been there at the time shared the story to their friends and Sam had become something of a legend.

Jacob was the one who had caught Sam's attention though. He was so mad at everything and everyone; he seemed to be permanently of the verge of raging out. Now he had run away, and Sam was determined to find him before the stupid kid got too far.

Sonny had a lot of land, only some of it farmed now that there were fewer hands to help, and it was surrounded by other properties. The crops weren't that high though, and unless Jacob was lying down in the corn, he wasn't going to have chosen them to hide in. Though Sam wouldn't put it past him to do just that to screw with them.

He didn't shout for Jacob, as he didn't want to give him the head's up to run further. He just jogged the edges of the fields, eyes roaming. He was off of Sonny's land for sure when he saw something hopeful. There was a grain silo in the distance, and he thought he saw a flash of blue at the base that didn't belong. He set off at a slow jog, trying to look as though he was just out for exercise rather than searching for the kid.

The flash of blue was Jacob's shirt. As soon as Sam was sure, he sent off a quick text to Sonny to let him know he'd found him and then jogged over to him, stopping with his hands on his knees as if he just needed to rest for a moment.

"Hey, Jacob."

Jacob grunted in response.

"You been running, too?" Sam asked innocently.

"Yeah, sure, because what's on my mind right now is my cardio stamina."

"Maybe it should be," Sam said. "Then you'd have a better chance of getting away next time you tried to make your escape."

Jacob scowled. "Did Sonny send you after me?"

Sam thought honesty was the best approach. "Yes. You ready to come back yet?"

"Never," he vowed fervently.

Sam sat down on the floor opposite him and leaned back on his hands. "What are you going to do then?" he asked conversationally.

"Get away from here," Jacob sneered. "Away from that Sonny and the rest of you asshole do-gooders."

"You're wrong. Sonny and Ruth aren't assholes and they're not 'do-gooders' like you're thinking. They're just good people."

"That Ruth said I needed Jesus!"

Sam coughed to hide his laugh. "Yeah, she says that a lot, but she means well. Her faith is her crutch, the thing she needs to make sense of the world. We all have one."

"I don't," Jacob said bitterly.

"I do," Sam said.

Jacob seemed to hesitate of the verge of speech for a moment, then yanked up a tuft of weeds and began shredding them angrily.

"So, where were you running to?" Sam asked.

"None of your business."

"Why'd you stop?"

"None of your _business!"_ he hissed.

Sam sighed and sat upright. "I think you stopped because you got too hot. Drink up." He threw one of the bottles of water into Jacob's lap.

The kid obviously didn't want to show weakness but the lure of the water was too much. He unscrewed the cap and drained a good deal of it then brought it down slowly and eyed Sam angrily. "You can go now."

"Probably can," Sam said. "Doesn't mean I will. One bottle of water isn't going to get you far, and Sonny would be mad as all hell if I left you out here."

"I don't need help," Jacob snapped. "I don't need anyone's help."

"I used to think that, too," Sam said. "Then I got help, and it made me see just how desperately I'd needed it before."

"Did you find God?" he asked sarcastically.

Sam laughed hard. If only he knew. "No, I didn't find God. I found my brother."

For the first time, Jacob looked interested. "Dean, right?"

"Yeah."

"What do you mean you _found_ him?"

Sam frowned slightly as he explained. "Dean lived here on the farm when he was young, did you know that?" When the kid shook his head, he went on. "Yeah, he was sixteen when he got here, when we lost him, and Sonny took him in."

"You lost him?"

Sam sighed. "It's a long story."

"I've got time."

"Okay. Well, when I was twelve and Dean sixteen, something happened between him and my dad, and Dean came to live here. I didn't know where he was. I grew up without him. Jump ahead eleven years, I find him again; well, he found me really."

"Eleven years!" Jacob sounded horrified. "You must have been crazy happy to see him again."

Sam snorted. "No, I really wasn't. I acted like an asshole to him, pretended I didn't know him and walked out. See, I didn't know what had happened with my dad. I thought Dean had left me by choice. So, when he showed up again, after my Dad died, I wasn't interested. It took a long time and a few real important conversations for me to even listen to him again. But I did listen and he helped me a lot. He saved me."

Jacob raised an eyebrow. "That sounds kinda chick-flick to me."

Sam grinned. "It does, and it was, but it's also true."

"My brother's going to save me," Jacob said suddenly, confidently.

"You have a brother?"

"Yeah, and as soon as I find him, he's going to take me out of here and we'll make it out right together like you and Dean did."

Sam's mouth pressed into a thin line. "That's why you've been running away. You're trying to find him."

"Yeah, he's in the city somewhere. He always said anyone could get rich in New York if they worked hard enough, and he always worked hard."

"Tell me about him," Sam said.

"His name is Paul and he's nineteen. He left two years ago when he had a fight with Mom's boyfriend. Mom kicked him out. She's gone now though. She got locked up for dealing, so Paul can come back."

The easy way he spoke about his mother getting locked up made Sam think there was little love lost there, not that he blamed him. What worried him was that the kid was going to keep running in an attempt to find his brother. Even if he did make it into the city, there was no way he was going to stumble across his brother. He needed help.

Sam considered for a long time. He could maybe do something to help the kid, but it was a risk. What if Paul wasn't in a position to help him? He could have wound up as screwed as his mother had apparently been. He couldn't let the kid know what he was planning to do, as if it fell through, it would devastate him. But Sam couldn't leave him to keep running away. One day he'd get too far to find.

"You know, Sonny told Dean something that made a real difference to us," he said.

Jacob looked mildly interested. "Yeah, what's that?"

"He told him to do something to make me proud when he found me again. And he did. Dean worked hard in school, got into college on a scholarship and became a social worker. I didn't see the good in it when we first met, I was too busy being a jerk, but when I actually paid attention, I was so proud. Still am. Dean helped and saved so many kids. He never would have done that if he'd stayed with us."

"You think I should do something to make Paul proud?"

"I do. You don't have to be a social worker, or even go to college, but be someone Paul can be proud of, impressed with, when you see him again. Make him see you haven't been wasting your time apart."

Jacob considered, his lips pressed into a thin line. Sam could almost see the cogs turning in his mind. "What can I do though? I'm too young to get a job."

"A good start would be to stop running away from Sonny. Let him help you. He knows more about the real world than almost anyone, and he can make sure you make out good."

Jacob nodded slowly. "But how am I going to find Paul?"

"Patiently," Sam said. "You can't really believe you'll find him bunking off to the city, so you need to wait and be smart about it. Sonny's got internet, maybe try Facebook first. Something will come along."

For the first time since he'd met him, Jacob smiled. It made him look years younger than his scowl had, innocent. Sam knew he had to do what he could to help him.

"Come on," he said, getting to his feet. "You need to come apologize to Sonny and finish your punishment like a man."

Jacob rose to stand beside him and they started to walk towards the house.

"Sam," Jacob ventured quietly, "you go running a lot, right?"

"Couple times a day, yeah."

"Can I maybe come with you?"

"Sure," Sam said without thought, then stopped and looked at the boy. "Just as long as you're not coming along to build stamina to run away again."

Jacob smiled ruefully. "No, but I figure that'd be something Paul would like me to do."

Sam nudged his shoulder. "I think you're right. Be ready tonight an hour before sundown, and we'll see what you're made of."

"Why wait?" Jacob asked. "Race you back to the house." He set off, sprinting along the tractor tracks. Sam let him get ahead a little and then set off after him laughing.

* * *

Dean was late getting home, having spent a long day working with the kids and filling in his notes for the counselor who was going to take over his sessions when he left. When he pulled the Impala to a stop outside the farmhouse, he saw Sonny sitting on the steps.

He climbed out of the car and made his way over to him and sat down. "Sam inside?" he asked. Sam was usually drawn out by the sound of the Impala's engine when Dean got back

"Running," Sonny said. "And you won't believe who's with him."

Dean looked around. There was a group of kids in the yard, playing a raucous game of football. He did a quick headcount and his mouth dropped open. "Jacob?"

"Yeah. He made a run for it again today and Sam found him out on the Freemantle farm. He brought him back. I've no idea what Sam said to him, but Jacob's first step was to apologize for yesterday and get back to punishment without a word of complaint. They sat together at dinner, and I swear Jacob was smiling." He shook his head. "Whatever his trick is, I could do with learning it."

"Wow. That's just…"

"Crazy, right? All true though. Then this evening, when Sam came out to set off for his run, Jacob was waiting for him. They just gave me a wave and disappeared."

Dean felt a surge of pride in his brother. Jacob was a troubled kid, and Dean had tried and failed to forge a connection with him. Sam seemed to have succeeded though, and that was a hell of an achievement. He wondered how Sam had managed it.

"I gotta say, Dean, Sam's come back from wherever he was a different man."

Dean nodded in agreement. "I never thought he would come back, believe me, but if I had, I would never have expected this."

Just then, the sound of fast footsteps reached them and Sam and Jacob ran into sight. They skidded to a stop at the edge of the yard and Sam said something that made Jacob laugh and run into the house. When he was gone, Sam ambled over to them and took a seat beside Dean. "How was it today?" he asked.

"Mostly good," Dean said. "Some are still struggling, but I was able to sign one kid off the books today. I figure a couple more weeks and we'll be good to go." Though Sam hadn't complained once about being at Sonny's, Dean thought he would be more than ready to get back to The Roadhouse.

Sam nodded thoughtfully. "Cool. There's something I'd like to do first, but I need to run it past you two first. You're the ones that know about kids, and I don't want to screw him over more than he already is."

Dean's interest was piqued. "What's up, Sammy?"

"Jacob. We were talking earlier about his brother. He's been running to go looking for him. I think I've persuaded him to stop running away for now, but he's desperate to find him. I have no idea what kind of state this brother will be in, but I'd like to at least check him out. Jacob thinks he'd be in the city."

"It's a big city, Sam," Sonny said.

"Yeah, but we've got Ash."

"Ash is a friend of ours," Dean explained. "Actual genius. Believe me, if this guy's going by the same name, Ash will find him for us."

Sonny looked thoughtful. "I don't know. I'd love to be able to give Jacob some real family, but I'm worried he won't be what Jacob's hoping for. His family story is tragic and upbringing is a powerful influence for a future."

"How about if we vet him first?" Sam asked hopefully. "We could find him and check out what kind of person he is. If he's no good, we'll keep him away. It has to be worth trying, right?"

"I think we can do this, Sonny," Dean added. "We won't tell him anything about Jacob or where he is until we're sure of him."

"Okay," Sonny said. "You guys go ahead. But make sure he doesn't come close until we're really sure of him. I don't want Jacob hurt anymore than he already is."

"Me neither," Sam said. He slapped his hands down on his knees. "Okay. I'm going to shower. I stink."

"Well, we didn't want to mention it," Dean teased.

Sam bumped his shoulder with a fist and he stood and walked into the house.

Sonny waited until he was gone and then he turned to Dean and smiled. "Different."

"Yeah," Dean said, satisfied. "He really is."

"I'm happy for you. He's exactly what I hoped he'd be before I met him."

"Me too. Believe me, Sonny, I appreciate what I have."

* * *

Ash came through for them the next day with an address for Jacob's brother. Dean took a day off and they went into the city to track him down.

Sam felt a thrill of nerves as they approached the building Paul lived in. It looked decent enough, graffiti-free walls and a secure main door with intercom access. Sam was hopeful it would work out. There was a woman coming out of the door when they stepped up, and Sam quickly caught it before it closed. They set off up the stairs to the fourth floor. They came to the door of the apartment and Sam took a breath before knocking. He had high hopes for this meeting that he was trying to keep in check. He couldn't help but think that if this went well, Jacob might have some form of family again. It mattered to him more than he would have thought it could. It would have been meaningless to him even a year ago, the thought that a kid was missing his brother, but he knew now, appreciated that to be without your brother was almost worse than Hell.

The door opened and Sam knew at once that they had found the right man. He was the image of Jacob, just older. They shared the same inky black hair and brown eyes. "Can I help you?" he asked.

"Yeah," Sam said. "We're from the neighbor association and we were hoping you'd have time to answer a few questions for us about activity in the building."

He eyed them for a moment and then nodded. "Okay. Sure. Do you want to come in?"

"That'd be great," Dean said.

Paul stepped back and gestured them inside. Sam's eyes scanned the room, seeing the small but neat living room. On the wall were pictures and Sam stepped closer to them under the pretence of making room for Dean and Paul. One of the photographs was a younger Paul and Jacob. They were sitting on a couch, smiling into the camera, looking happy.

There was a stack of textbooks on the small table and a legal pad with notes scrawled over it. "You're studying?" Sam asked.

"Kingsborough Community," Paul said. "I work weekends in Enzo's."

Dean and Sam exchanged a glance and Dean nodded slightly. So far so good.

"That's a nice picture," Dean said, nodding at the photo.

"My brother," Paul said, a hint of sadness in his voice. "Jacob."

"Good kid?" Dean asked.

"The best," Paul said, frowning. "Thought you were here to talk about the neighborhood. My brother doesn't live here."

Sam looked pointedly at Dean, letting him take the lead. He knew people better than Sam did. He could read them.

Dean took a look around and said, "Look, we're lying. We're not here about the neighborhood. We want to talk to you about Jacob."

Paul's face paled. "What do you know about him? He's okay, right? Who the hell are you?"

"He's okay," Dean quickly reassured the young man. "My name in Dean Winchester, this is my brother Sam, and we're friends of Jacob." He paused for a moment. "Look, there's no easy way to say this. Your mother has been charged for possession with intent to distribute. She's in the county lockup right now."

"But Jacob…" He gripped the back of a chair. "Where's he?"

"Somewhere safe," Dean said. "He's being taken care of by a good man. We'd like to get you in contact with him, but we want to be sure it's not going to backfire on him. He's been through a lot."

"Like what?" Paul asked. "Did someone hurt him?"

"Not physically," Dean said. "But emotionally he has been through a lot."

"I need to see him," Paul said desperately. "Please, tell me where he is."

"We will as long as we can be as sure as we can that it'll work out," Dean said. "I need to ask you a few questions…"

* * *

Sam pulled the car to a halt and climbed out. Jacob was sitting on the front porch, his baseball cap and sneakers on, ready to run.

"You're late," he scolded Sam as he made his way over to him

"Been doing something important," Sam said.

Jacob scowled. "Yeah? What's that?"

Sam grinned and pointed to the gate where an old Chevy truck was driving though.

"Who's that?" Jacob asked, then his mouth dropped open as the truck screeched to a halt and the door flew open. Paul practically fell out, and Jacob lurched to his feet. "Paul?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "He's been…"

Jacob wasn't listening to him. He was entranced by the sight of his brother. They stared at each other for a moment, neither moving, and then they started toward each other, walking and then running. They met and their arms flew around each other, and then they were talking so fast it was a babble of noise that neither could possibly understand.

Sam understood what they were thinking and feeling, though, because there was nothing better than finding your brother.

* * *

Their last day at Sonny's was the day after Mitch came back for summer. Dean had signed off his last kid a few days ago and had spent the intervening time just enjoying the farm and company. He'd just finished loading up the Impala with their bags ready for them to leave and was sitting on the steps when Sam and his followers got back from their run.

What had started as Sam's solitary pursuit and then his time with Jacob had evolved into most of the kids on the farm. They would wait for him by the barn every morning and evening, sneakers on feet and bottles of water in hand, and Sam would take them on a jog through the fields. Dean knew it limited Sam's speed, which had to frustrate him, but you couldn't tell from how he acted with the kids.

Dean wished Ellen could see him like this, because it would make her so happy. The fact was that Sam was now the person Dean had always known he could be—the person he had been growing into when Dean had been left behind—and he was so proud of him. The Cage could have driven Sam back to the man Dean had met in The Roadhouse the first time—hard and cold—but it hadn't. It had freed him.

And Dean had hope…

The night before, at Mitch's welcoming and Dean and Sam's farewell dinner, Sam and Mitch had been seated together, and Dean had caught snatches of their conversation. They'd been talking about college. Sam had quizzed Mitch on his classes, professors and course-load. Mitch was happy to talk, and Sam seemed so eager to listen.

Dean couldn't help but wonder if Sam was now thinking of his own future.

"Run! Run! Run!" Jacob's voice broke through the quiet followed by laughter and the arrival of a dozen kids followed by Sam. His cheeks were flushed and he was grinning, with Russ slung over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. Russ was shouting, "C'mon, Hurricane man!" between screams of laughter.

They reached Dean and then stopped dead in front of him. Dean felt a flicker of unease at their excited faces before they uncapped their water bottles and began to splash it over him. It smacked of pre-planning, and Dean guessed from Sam's grin as he blinked water out of his eyes that it was _his_ plan.

"Nice, Sammy," he said.

Sam just laughed.

Dean stood and bent over, shaking his head like a dog, sending drops of water over the boys who stood in front of him. They ran from him, laughing fit to bust. Sam's lips twitched as he took in the water dripping from Dean's hair.

"You ready to go home?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, soon as you've changed and been under a dryer," Sam said. "I'm not riding with a drowned rat."

Dean stood and ran a hand through his wet hair. "Thanks for this, Sam."

"For the soaking? That wasn't my idea; it was Jake's."

"No, for coming here and letting me finish with the kids properly."

Sam shrugged. "It's been good."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "It has."

* * *

They made the trip west over a few days, taking turns at the wheel and booking into motels at night. They were in no real rush for a change, not heading to a hunt, just making the trip a good one.

As they passed through Illinois, Sam ventured the idea that they go by Bobby's on the way back to the Roadhouse. Dean was pleased that things between Sam and the older hunter had finally reached an even keel, that they had formed a bond of sorts. It had been a long time coming. It felt to him that all the pieces of his life were clicking together at last. Sam and Sonny. Sam and Bobby. Sam and the kids. It was a good feeling.

They stopped at a liquor store on the way through town and picked up a bottle of good whiskey for Bobby and then drove the short distance to his place on the edge of town.

Dean went ahead to the house, feeling light and anticipating a good night with his friend and his brother. He threw open the back door but came to a sudden halt as he heard the raised voice.

"I don't care, Castiel!" Bobby shouted. "It's too soon. He's barely been back a month!"

Dean turned to Sam and took in his stony expression.

"They need to know!" Castiel said passionately. "They deserve to know. Sam will not thank you for hiding this from him."

Sam pushed past Dean and walked to the doorway between library and kitchen. "What do we need to know?" he asked, his voice rough with anger.

Bobby paled but Castiel looked satisfied as they turned to look and Dean stepped up beside Sam.

"What's going on, Bobby?" he asked.

Bobby hesitated and in that moment Dean knew all his hopes were dashed. There would be no return to work, no college for Sam, because there was a new fight, a new battle to wage. His heart broke as he saw that shining future crumble like ashes.

"We are at war," Castiel said grimly.

 _To be continued…_

* * *

 **So… That was one of the harder chapters for this story. I am not so good at fluff. I tend to do better with angst. I thought it was important that Sam and Dean have that time together though.**

 **Thank you all for the support you have shown the story so far. I appreciate it more than I can say.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for working your beta magic on this chapter, and thank you Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for all your help and support when outlining. Love you ladies xxx**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Four**_

 _One year previously…_

Joshua's words resonated with Castiel. He tried to find a way to live his life that would please both God and the Winchesters. With no way to save Sam, that meant saving other people, just as Sam and Dean would be doing had it not all ended for them.

Heaven gave him no guidance to help others. Michael barely acknowledged his presence and the rest of the angels were in the state of chaotic flux following the averted apocalypse that they always were after events of great upheaval. It had been the same after the Great Flood. It would take years for things to settle again. For the angels as a whole, that wasn't an issue, as they took little interest in the smaller actions on Earth, but for Castiel it made it hard to him to know what to do. Ultimately, he did what he knew the Winchesters would do: he helped people where he could.

He had spent long millennia watching people live and die, hurt and love, without caring more than a child with an anthill and magnifying glass would. He took notice now though. He watched them, seeing their lives and helping them where he could. He eased a child's transit to earth when she fell from a tree, preventing a broken bone. He performed a few minor miracles of the sick and eased suffering of more. He found himself drawn to families in particular because he understood the importance of them having spent his year Fallen being welcomed into one. That was the happiest year of his long existence, despite the tumult and fear of it.

He went on in that way, helping where he could, until one day, weeks after Sam's loss, when he heard the cry. He was standing at the peak of Mount Corcovado, in the shadow of the magnificent _Cristo Redentor_ statue, watching the sun rise and the city come to life. The only voices in his mind were angelic ones; no one prayed to him anymore, so he knew when he heard the pained cry that it was one of his family. It took less time than a human heartbeat for him to spread his wings and take flight, but it was long enough for the cry to become a scream that cut off abruptly. Castiel knew what that meant. The angel was dead.

He sped faster, though the urgency of saving was gone now, and set himself down on the asphalt of a parking lot in Atlanta, Georgia. There were two people there. One, standing tall and proud with a long silver blade in hand was a demon. She had rich mahogany hair and delicately feminine features. Her beauty was marred by the sneer she wore as she looked down at the second person cowering on the ground. It was Sophie, or at least it had been, bleeding from the throat. She was gone now.

Like all angels, Castiel could see angels in vessels just as he could demons in meat suits. It was a case of looking past the human visage to the grace. There was no grace left in the woman on the ground.

He took in the situation in less than a second and quickly reacted; his blade dropped into his hand and he stalked forward towards the demon. She turned to him and laughed as Sophie's vessel shouted to him, "Be careful, brother!"

It took Castiel a moment to recognize the fact that, as well as addressing him as brother, she was speaking Enochian. His momentary distraction was what the demon needed to advance on him and strike out with her stolen blade. Castiel parried and the demon laughed.

"Here I was thinking this would be a slow day," she said. "But here you are, all set to make it two for the price of one."

"What did you do to Sophie?" Castiel asked.

"Her?" She nodded back to the cowering figure. "Just took a little something-something."

She tried to use Castiel's distraction to jab at him, but he blocked the blow and returned it with one of his own. He missed her chest, right over her heart, by a millimeter. She looked angry at his daring and it made her next attack sloppy and easy to block.

"What _something_?" he asked.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

Castiel used his own anger to strengthen him. With a series of quick strikes and returns, he attacked the demon with all his might. She met him at every turn, but Castiel saw the flicker of fear in her eyes as she recognized that he was a dangerous opponent. Castiel saw her resolve falter and he said, "Scared?"

"Not of you," she sneered. Castiel thought there _was_ someone she feared, just not him. "I've got a delivery to make though. Be seeing you, Castiel." She disappeared without a sound.

Castiel took a moment to search out for any lingering presence, but there was none. She was gone beyond his ability to sense.

He quickly made his way over to the vessel and crouched beside her. He reached out automatically and stroked a hand over her throat, healing her shallow wound. "What happened to Sophie?" he asked. "Where did she go?"

"Castiel, it is me," she replied in Enochian. "I am Sophie. The reaper took something from me. I don't feel _right_ now. I cannot sense anything." Her tone became mournful. "My wings are gone."

Castiel sucked in a harsh breath. Her wings were gone. That could only mean one thing. "How did this happen?"

She cupped her throat. "She cut me and something poured out. I think it was my…."

"Grace," Castiel finished for her when it became clear she couldn't.

"What am I going to do?" she asked plaintively.

"You must hide. We will find you a safe place until we can make sense of what's happening. I will find the demon and take back your grace."

He didn't know whether it was something the Winchesters would support and be proud of, but it was his heavenly family he needed to serve now.

"I can't," she said plaintively. "How can I live like that? I need Heaven."

Castiel considered her words, trying to make sense of what she was saying. There could be no Heaven without grace. His concentration was on the problem, not his surroundings, so he didn't see the resolve in Sophie's eyes. He didn't realize what she was going to do, so he was too late to stop her. She snatched his blade from his loose grip and plunged the tip into her chest. Castiel grabbed for it too late. Blood spurted and soaked though her white shirt as her heart gave one stuttering, torn thud and fell silent.

He stared into her glazed eyes and felt a wave of desperate sadness. It had been an act of desperation and a waste of life for her to end it like that.

* * *

 _4 Months Ago_

Bobby set his glass down when the phone rang and sighed. It was his FBI number, which meant someone was in trouble. He cleared his throat and picked it up, adjusting his voice to something slightly deeper, more formal. "Willis. FBI."

"Agent Willis, this is Officer Harding with the Bangor PD. I have an Agent Studdard here and I just wanted to confirm his assignment."

Bobby rolled his eyes but spoke with a bite of annoyance. "Agent Studdard is working a case so deep undercover that he's going to need a name tag to remember who he is when it's all over. I suggest you leave him to do his work, Officer."

There was a pause and then a truculent voice answered. "Yes, Sir. I'll make sure to do that."

Bobby slammed the phone back in its cradle and sighed. If Rufus didn't polish his Fed act soon, he was going to wind up in jail. He turned his attention back to his book and waited for the phone to ring again. Thirty minutes passed, long enough for Bobby to have almost decided they'd arrested his old mentor anyway, before his cell rang. He answered with a weary, "Singer."

"Thanks for that, Bobby," Rufus said without preamble. "Looks like Maine is recruiting straight out of daycare, and the toddler I got lumped with was overdue a nap."

"What are you doing in Maine?" Bobby asked.

"Heard about a possible Chupacabra. Turned out to be nothing, but something come over the scanner while I was here, and thought I'd check it out. Glad I did. It's funky."

"Funky how?"

"Big-ass wing marks on the sidewalk where the second body had been. I went by the scene in time to see a deputy going to town with a pressure washer. They're apparently not keen on the X-Files side of the killing getting out."

Bobby sat up straighter in his chair. "You sure they were wings?"

"Kinda hard to miss, Bobby. They were like ashes. You see this before?"

"The boys did. They told me those wings are what are left when an angel is killed."

"Ah," Rufus said. "Guess it makes sense."

"You said second body; what about the first?"

"That one was a weird one, too. It was a woman, and she had a cut across her throat."

"A slit throat you mean?"

"Not like Winchester's, no. It was more like a deep scratch."

Bobby took a moment to shove down the hurt that hearing Sam mentioned so casually brought him and listened as Rufus went on.

"That wasn't what took her out. It was the stab through the heart that got her. She was a young woman, too. Poor kid looked like she was caught on her way home from the office."

Another piece clicked into place in Bobby's mind. "Don't suppose you got any pictures of the vics, did you?"

"You forget who you're talking to? Of course I did. That's why the kid threw his tantrum. I think he thought I was press."

"His mistake. Send me the pictures you got and I'll let you know what I come up with."

"You know more than you're telling me, don't you?"

"Maybe," Bobby said evasively. "I've got to make a call to find out if I'm right though."

"Who are you calling?"

"An old friend," Bobby said. "Talk to you soon, Rufus."

He set the phone down and picked up his glass again. He took a slug of his whiskey and gasped as it hit the back of his throat. He knew he needed to make the call, but he wasn't sure he was ready to throw himself into that part of their world again. It was beset with memories and the pain of loss.

Ultimately, he had no choice.

"Castiel," he said to the empty room. "It's Bobby. I need to talk to you."

He waited only a handful of seconds before the sound of an angel's arrival broke the quiet of the room and a dry voice greeted him, "Hello, Bobby."

"Hello, Castiel."

For a moment there was silence between them, and Bobby felt the presence of Sam and Dean strongly in the room despite their absence. Bobby expected Castiel to say something more, to ask how he was dealing perhaps, but the moment passed and Bobby cleared his throat roughly.

Castiel looked into his eyes for a moment and then asked, "What did you need?"

"Got something to show you." Bobby flipped open his laptop and pulled up his emails. Rufus' photographs had just come through. He opened the files and gestured Castiel over. "Here. Buddy of mine just took these in Maine. Looks like an angel kill to me."

Castiel peered at the screen for a long moment and nodded. "Yes. This was an angel. Berieah." He stepped back and sighed. "This is not the first I have seen either. There have a number of killings."

"Okay," Bobby said. "Who's killing angels and why?"

"Not just killing them," Castiel said. "Their grace is being stolen, too." Seeing Bobby's shock, he went on. "Grace is what makes an angel an angel. Without it, we're just…"

"Human," Bobby said. "Damn, Cas."

"Practically human, yes. I have encountered one and, from the signs and bodies I have been tracking, there have been others. It seems they are taking the grace and then killing the graceless angels." He glanced at the second picture, the angel wings. "I can only assume that this angel tried to help and was killed in the battle."

"Who's doing the killing though?" Bobby asked.

"Demons. At least it was a demon that I saw when I tried to save Sophie." His features set into a frown. "I failed."

"How did they do it?" Bobby asked. "Angels are supposed to be stronger than demons. And the boys said you need an angel blade to kill an angel. Where'd they even get one?"

"I don't know. The demon I fought seemed stronger than usual, but as for where it got the blade, I don't know." He hesitated. "Bobby, will you help me do something?"

"Of course," Bobby said automatically. "What do you need?"

"I need a demon."

* * *

Trapping the demon with Bobby's assistance was ultimately easier than they could have hoped for. Bobby had barely scuffed the dirt over his offering at the crossroads before the demon arrived in the trap they had painted. It was in the body of a man in his twenties. Castiel looked past the generically handsome face to the rotting mess beneath and nodded to Bobby; he was what they needed. He wasted no time punching the demon hard, knocking it unconscious. Bobby scratched away the edge of the trap with a knife while Castiel hefted the demon over his shoulder. When Castiel felt the hold of the trap drop from the demon, he spread his wings and carried them back to Bobby's house.

They had prepared the panic room before they left, so it was a simple matter of dropping the demon into the chair placed in the middle of the room and helping Bobby to tie him down. As he worked he remembered all the times he had done this for Sam and Dean when they were trying to find the location of the colt and Crowley. The memories gave him a pang of sadness. He missed his friends.

His expression must have given him away, as Bobby asked, "You okay, Cas?"

"Yes. I am just thinking."

"About the boys?" He asked, then seeing the answer in Castiel's eyes he said, "Yeah, me too. Dean's doing better though. I spoke to him a few days ago. He's staying with his friend Sonny in New York, working construction of all things."

"I have seen him, too," Castiel said.

Bobby looked surprised. "He didn't mention it."

"He did not see me. I thought it was better if I gave him space to heal but, occasionally, I visit to ensure he is well, or as well as it is possible for him to be."

"Thank you," Bobby said, "for giving him that space. I think it's better all round if Dean stays well out of the supernatural world as long as he can."

Though neither of them had mentioned his name, Castiel was sure Bobby was also thinking of the younger Winchester. Castiel wished there was something good to say about him. He was the last person who had seen even a sign of Sam, and he didn't think mentioning the trace of freedom as his fingers curled around the bars of the cage would comfort anyone.

Once again, his silence spoke something to Bobby. "I know," he said solemnly. "I miss him, too."

That was the truth. Castiel missed his friends, but he could at least be comforted by seeing one of them. He watched Dean as he worked, carefully dedicating himself to each task on the site. He had seen him at rest with his colleagues, talking about their work and other things that mattered to them, and he'd even seen Dean smile sometimes. It was a forced, small thing compared to what it had once been, but it was something, some trace of happiness. Sam had none of that and Castiel hurt for him.

Bobby cleared his throat gruffly and muttered something about more salt before exiting the panic room. Castiel listened to his tread on the stairs, sure Bobby had left to give him a moment of privacy to gather himself again.

Castiel took a moment, drew in a deep breath, and pushed all thoughts away that weren't needed for the immediate. He picked up the bottle of holy water on the desk and walked back to the demon. He had his angel blade to use as an incentive for the demon to talk, but he didn't want to hurt the host if he could avoid it.

He splashed drops of water on the demon's face, wanting it to wake but not truly hurt it yet. It clearly had a low pain threshold though, as it cried out with pain.

Bobby stomped back into the room, a box of salt in his hand, and nodded, satisfied. "Good. You're awake. We have a few questions for you."

Red eyes moved from Castiel to Bobby and it sneered. "Awesome. I got grabbed by the angel of fuckups and the alcoholic hunter extraordinaire."

"Yeah, this'll pull you off the popular kid table in Hell," Bobby said.

The demon straightened in its chair and asked, "So, what's the deal? You need a new liver, maybe, Singer? Wings here need a date to prom?"

"We're not here to deal," Castiel said. "We want information."

Unease flickered across the demon's face. "Information about what?"

Castiel leaned forward slightly. "Why demons are stealing grace and killing angels?"

The demon laughed. "You think I know about that? I'm a crossroads demon. We're the wheelers and dealers, not the foot soldiers. They don't know what we do and we don't know about them. Hell doesn't exactly hold team building exercises. We don't mix."

"I think you're lying," Castiel said. "I think you know exactly what's happening."

"I don't."

Bobby and Castiel exchanged a glance and Bobby shrugged. "Maybe he's telling the truth. Doesn't mean we shouldn't have a little fun anyway."

"You expect me to believe you're _that_ kind of person?" the demon asked. "I know about you, Singer. The crazy torture member of your team is currently roasting on a spit in the Cage. You're the research and coffee guy."

Bobby's expression darkened and he picked up the bottle of holy water. "Maybe you're right, I'm not good at torture, but you know what they say?" He splashed the water onto the demon's skin, making it sizzle. "Practice makes perfect."

Castiel knew Bobby needed to do this alone, to vent what he was feeling at the demon's casual mention of what was happening to Sam, so he stood back and watched as the hunter worked his will over the demon.

The demon was strong, but Bobby was determined to break it. It became a battle of wills that was broken when Bobby poured salt down the demon's throat and followed it with a pitcher of holy water.

"Stop!" the demon howled. "I'll tell you what you want to know."

Bobby stepped back and threw the can of salt over his shoulder. "About damn time. Cas, you want to start?"

Castiel nodded. "Why are angels being attacked?"

The demon looked up through narrowed eyes. "Do you really not know?"

Bobby raised a bottle of holy water threateningly and the demon rushed on.

"It's the power. Grace is creation. The new king is building a nuke."

"Okay," Bobby said slowly, carefully, "and why does the new king want a nuke?"

The demon licked his lips and smiled. "Because he's going to kill the archangels."

* * *

Dean leaned back in his chair, stunned. He'd thought a new war was coming, but he hadn't expected _this._ Nukes and a king that actually wanted to take out archangels. How were they supposed to fight that?

"This new king," Sam said, "do we know who he is?"

"We do," Bobby said dourly. "It's Crowley."

Sam huffed a laugh. "You're kidding, right? _Crowley!_ "

"No joke," Bobby said. "After we got the name, Cas went back to Michael and got the confirmation from him. Crowley and Michael are at war."

"So, it's the end of the world again," Dean said.

"Technically, no," Castiel said. "It's not the death of an archangel that would destroy the world. It was the battle itself that posed a threat when Michael and Lucifer were destined to fight. An archangel could be killed without much destruction at all."

Sam looked thoughtful, not worried or angry as Dean had expected from his reaction when he'd heard Bobby and Castiel speaking without and about them. It was like he was merely hearing them talk about an article in the news that had no real impact on them. He wasn't happy as he had been since his return, but he didn't seem particularly stressed either.

"What are you doing about it?" Sam asked Castiel.

"There is little I can do," Castiel said. "Now that we know what is happening, angels are protecting themselves. They are largely remaining in Heaven. Michael hasn't descended to Earth since Stull."

Sam nodded slowly and turned and made for the door. "Dean, you got a minute?"

"Of course." Confused, Dean followed him out of the house and into the yard. Sam walked away into the junkers and then perched on the hood of a rusty Pinto. Dean stood opposite him and said, "What's wrong?"

Sam chewed his lip for a moment, deep in thought, then he said, "You know what this means, right?"

"Yeah," Dean said tiredly. "A new fight."

"What if it doesn't?" Sam asked, then hurried on while Dean tried to remember how to close his mouth. "I mean, what can we really do? We can't defend all the angels in the world. We can't follow them around and protect them all hours. They don't even need our defense. They're more capable than any of us humans at fighting. I know we owe Cas but, Dean, I don't think we can fight this for him."

Dean managed to gain control of himself to say, "You think we should sit this one out?"

Sam nodded. "It's ultimately down to you. If you want to saddle up and try to stop Crowley killing Michael, I'll do it. I don't know how, but I'll do it. But I think this one is above us, and I don't think it's our job. Like I said, we owe Cas, he's family, but we don't owe Michael shit."

Dean considered, staring out at the salvage yard. He wasn't sure what to say. This felt like a dream—Sam advocating restraint in the face of a threat. The thing was, he was right; it wasn't their fight. There was nothing they could do. He didn't want part of it. He wanted Sam in college. He wanted to be back working with children. For the first time they had an actual chance of making that work.

"I'm with you," he said eventually. "I don't think we should get involved. I can't see it ending well for us anyway. But… what do we do if we're not fighting?"

Sam rubbed the back of his neck. "That's down to you, too. I was thinking we could try something else. I'm not saying hang up the hunt completely," he said quickly. "But I think there are other ways to help people. You've been helping those kids this past year. Would you want to go back to that?"

Dean knew it was what Sam had wanted for him since he'd quit years ago, and he understood because he wanted better for Sam. He wanted it for himself, too. Hunting was great, it saved lives, but so did what he had been doing. And just because he was working as a civilian, it didn't mean he couldn't still take hunts as well.

"I would," he said quietly. "And you?"

"Absolutely," Sam said enthusiastically. "I want that for you more than almost anything."

Dean smiled slightly. "I meant for yourself. What do you want?" He hesitated. "Do you want college, Sam?"

Sam was silent so long he didn't think he would answer. Then he said in a voice quiet it was practically a whisper. "I think I do."

Dean beamed at him and clapped a hand on his shoulder, his heart racing with excitement. "Then do it. We can make it work. Me, Ellen, Ash even, we'll do whatever it takes to make it happen for you. Sam, you deserve it."

Sam smiled slightly. "You really think I can?"

"I know you can," Dean said. "You're a damn genius."

Sam grinned widely. "Okay. I'm in to at least try."

Dean's smile was tentative. "Are we really doing this?"

"As long as we're helping people, still saving them, I think we are." His expression became solemn and he nodded back to the house. "I guess we need to tell them."

Dean's smile faded. "Yeah. I guess we do."

Castiel wouldn't be happy, Dean was sure, but he thought they would have Bobby's support. He'd never wanted Dean to leave his work behind and he would know Sam deserved this. Ellen would be thrilled and proud.

They were really going to do it. There would be no flames again for them as they were going to save their own way.

* * *

 **So…First things first: this isn't going to become a college fic. I have no desire to write that. I want the boys to be working toward a future though.**

 **That said, what do you think? Are they making the right choice opting to sit this one out?**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for the fabulous beta job, and SandraEngstrom2 and Gredelina1 for all your help and support.**

 **Thank you all for the reviews for the last chapter. I was really nervous about the way the last one ended, and I was surprised so many of you were still there for the story after. In thanks, I give you an early update.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Five**_

There was an air of nervous anticipation in the kitchen that morning which Dean didn't understand. They'd been back at The Roadhouse for three weeks and the only thing they had planned was to maybe catch a Huskers game at the end of the week. Ellen and Jo were acting oddly though. Ellen kept opening a drawer at the counter only to close it again, and Jo was smiling fit to bust as she peered out of the back window. He guessed she was waiting for Sam to get back from his run, but he didn't know why. He wondered if they'd somehow found out about Sam's college hopes.

They'd agreed to keep their plans between themselves until they knew for sure it was actually possible. The others knew something was going on because of the amount of time they were spending on the laptop without a case to work, but they said they were getting Sam caught up on the year he'd missed. In fact Sam was researching colleges and options for study and Dean was looking at job postings, though it was decided he wouldn't apply anywhere until Sam was accepted to a college so they knew the area for Dean to focus on. Neither of them wanted to be parted again.

Dean had no doubt Ellen would be thrilled at the thought of Sam in college, and she would do whatever she could to make it happen. She had been happy enough when they'd come back from Bobby's, aware of the new fight but unwilling to throw themselves into it. She'd backed them fully, agreeing that there was nothing they could do and they owed Michael nothing. There had been a question in her eyes though that she hadn't asked aloud: John. Michael still had their father as a vessel; were they giving him up? Neither of them had mentioned John since Sam got back. Dean was taking his lead from Sam. When Sam wanted to talk about it, they would, though again, there was nothing they could do to free him from an archangel.

"He's here!" Jo said suddenly, drawing Dean's attention to the room again as the back door opened and Sam came in red-faced and sweating.

He looked from Ellen and Jo's excitement to Dean's confusion and his smile faded to a frown. "What's going on?"

Ellen opened the drawer and pulled out a white envelope. She held it out to Sam and said, "Happy Birthday, honey. Sorry it's a little late."

"Uh… thanks," he said, bemused.

"Open it!" Jo ordered.

Sam slid his finger under the seal and tore the paper open then tipped the contents into his hand. A sober brown colored card dropped out and Sam lifted it to read. His eyes widened and he lowered it to look at Ellen, confused. "A hunt?"

"No, honey, a rest, for both of you."

"What's going on?" Dean asked.

Sam held out the card and Dean took it to read. It was a gift certificate for The Stanley Hotel in Colorado. He understood at once where the inspiration for Ellen's gift came from, but Sam was obviously lost. The story he'd told had obviously resonated with Ellen and she'd arranged this for them.

"This is amazing, Ellen," Dean said.

She beamed at him and then turned to Sam who still seemed stunned. "Don't you like it?" she asked.

"It's great," Sam huffed a laugh, "but it's a lot."

"It's also non-refundable," she said, "so you have to take it." She softened. "Let me do this for you, Sam. I want you to have this."

Sam glanced at Dean and he nodded slightly and smiled, encouraging him. Sam's smile returned and he bent and kissed Ellen's cheek. "Thank you, Ellen. This is great." He turned to Dean and pointed at him. "They better have doubles or you're sleeping on the couch."

Dean raised his hands. "Not a problem. As long as you know you're too damn big to come creeping into my bed if you get scared."

Sam's head threw back and he laughed. Dean and Jo joined him, and Ellen just watched, a satisfied smile quirking her lips.

* * *

While Dean stared around the lobby, Sam checked them in and listened to the attractive receptionist's patter about the amenities. "There are some excellent hiking trails in the park, and guides are available for hire to lead you to the best lookout spots and views. If golf is your thing, the Estes Park Golf Course is only a ten minute drive away." She leaned forward slightly, looking intently at Sam. "And of course, there is the Ghost Tour."

Dean's head snapped around so fast Sam expected him to crick his neck. "We want one of them," he said quickly.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Seriously, Dean?"

"Seriously." Dean pulled his wallet out of his jacket and slapped it down on the counter. "We want two tickets to the ghost tour."

The receptionist gave Dean a beaming smile. "You won't regret it, Sir. It will be fifty dollars even for you both."

Sam rolled his eyes and picked up the two keycards and sheaf of pamphlets she'd produced for each activity she'd mentioned while Dean handed over the money and took two stubs for their tour. He looked around the lobby and wondered if he had ever felt more out of place in his life. There were families in matching shorts and sandals outfits with I Love Colorado t-shirts. There were people in business suits with briefcases making their way out of one of the conference rooms. There was even an elderly couple making their steady way across the lobby hand in hand. Sam fit into none of those groups. Despite that, he was happy. He was with Dean, somewhere nice for a change, and apparently he had a ghost tour to look forward to. He snorted. Life was weird since he'd got back from Hell.

"Done," Dean said, tucking his wallet back into his pocket.

Sam shouldered his duffel and made for the bank of elevators. "We're on the second floor," he said.

"Room 217?" Dean asked excitedly.

Sam glanced at the paper card wallet. "No, 212."

"Damn," Dean sighed. "217 is King's room. It's where all the best haunting is supposed to happen."

"Could you be a bigger geek about this?"

"Like you're not hyped to be here," Dean said.

Sam smiled and shook his head. He was hyped to be there, but it was for a very different reason to Dean. His excitement was rooted in the Cage and the freedom he had had now.

The elevator door opened, and a woman was revealed in the car. She had black hair with streaks of grey and her face was lined with wrinkles. Her clothes were unlike anything Sam had seen so far in the hotel. She wore a flowing black dress with silver embellishments, and at the hollow of her throat was a large crystal on a silver chain. Sam glanced away quickly, but he felt her eyes on him as she walked out of the car, and then she spoke quietly and Sam's happy mood deflated somewhat. "Good luck, gentlemen."

"Excuse me?" Sam said, but she didn't even slow as she walked away from them. "That was weird."

"That was Madam May," Dean said. "She's the resident psychic."

Sam raised an eyebrow as they stepped into the elevator and he pressed the button marked two. "Hotels have resident psychics?"

"This one does." Dean grinned. "They make most of their money from the haunting side of things. People come from all over the world to stay here for a taste of the paranormal. It's a big money business."

"Apparently so," Sam said. "Maybe that's what I should do after college. Set up a business taking dumbasses around haunted houses and showing them what rock salt can do."

Dean laughed harder than the joke really deserved.

The elevator stopped on the second floor, opening to a hall with brown flock wallpapered walls and a deep red carpet. They stepped out and Dean checked the door numbers. "This way," he said confidently, leading them along the hall.

They came to their room and Sam shifted the duffels so he could wrangle the card into the slot. He fully expected the annoying red light to flash and deny them access, as he was apparently cursed with the things usually, but the green light blinked and the lock disengaged.

"Not bad," he said, following Dean into the room.

"Whoa, better than not bad," Dean said. "Look at this place."

The bedding was clean white and the two queen beds were dark wood. Sam gripped the footboard of one and nodded as he confirmed it was real hardwood, not veneer. The carpet was thick and a rich brown. There was a table and two chairs by the window with a small vase of flowers on top.

"This tub is huge," Dean called from the bathroom door.

Sam looked over his shoulder and smiled at the long claw-foot tub. "Nice."

Dean went to the bed and rooted through his duffel for a moment. He pulled out a bottle of Johnnie Walker and waved it in the air. Sam grinned and retrieved the two water glasses from by the sink. Dean poured a generous measure in each and then set the bottle down.

"To Stephen King," he said.

Sam clinked his glass against Dean's and then said, "To Ellen."

Dean grinned and nodded. "Ellen."

* * *

By the time the ghost tour started, they'd drunk a good portion of the bottle of whiskey Dean had brought with him and they'd had a few beers in the restaurant with their dinner, so they were pleasantly buzzed. Dean had seen Sam drunk a few times, but that was always in times of stress and worry. He was relaxed now, though, and happy, and Dean realized now just how much of his brother he'd missed out on during the past years with all the drama.

They were almost late to the start of the ghost tour because Dean had been unable to resist the apple pie on the dessert trolley. They got to the appointed room just in time, coming in behind an elderly couple. They made up a group of around twelve and they were a good mix of all ages, from the couple they'd followed in to a pair of teenagers who were armed with a huge camera and notepads. Dean could see no one who looked like a tour guide though; everyone was looking around the room bewilderedly.

Suddenly, the chandelier light set into the ceiling flickered. Sam and Dean were the only ones that were untroubled. A couple of people cried out and others gasped and looked around wildly.

Sam muttered, "Vengeful spirit do you think?"

Dean coughed a laugh. "More like bad electrics."

"Ladies and gentlemen," a voice said from behind them, "I apologize for that. Our resident ghosts always like to welcome a new group with a show of their abilities."

They all turned and Dean saw a middle-aged man with a vivid ginger comb-over and moustache dressed in a red velvet dinner jacket and black bowtie.

"My name is Endeavor Brown and I will be your guide this evening," he said. "If you would please each take a pamphlet and bottle from the table behind me, we can begin."

Exchanging a glance, Dean and Sam made their way over to the table he indicated and each took a pamphlet from the stack and small plastic bottle. Dean examined his bottle as Sam started to laugh beside him. The bottle had a latin cross etched into the plastic and a black label declaring it as holy water. Dean started to laugh, too.

Endeavour Brown gave them a tired look that told them clearly they weren't the first people to have such a reaction, or perhaps not the first drunks he'd given the tour to. "Hold tight to those bottles," he said in a carrying voice. "Ghosts are repelled by holy water. If you see something you can't explain this evening and are afraid, do not hesitate to use it. Now, if you will follow me…"

They left the room they'd gathered in and made their way over to the staircase. Endeavour gestured expansively at it and said, "If you would look at page two of your guides you will see a copy of the photograph one lucky guest took."

Dean dutifully turned to the page and looked at the photograph. There was the staircase and at the top was the image of a woman in period clothing. He automatically looked up at the staircase again, almost expecting to see the figure there. There was just a young couple making their way downstairs. He shook his head.

"This is the first proof of the paranormal we have been able to find, despite the hotel being steeped in ghosts. They are usually better at hiding themselves," Endeavour said.

"Do you know who she is?" a woman asked.

He nodded energetically. "We believe that is the ghost of Flora Stanley, wife of the hotel's original architect and owner, Freelan Stanley. She is seen often around the hotel, but we believe that image was her caught repeating her grand entrance to one of the many parties she and her husband threw here. This leads me nicely into our next point of interest. Please follow me."

He led them into a large room with rich cream walls and polished hardwood floors. There was a grand piano on a plinth in one corner and a smattering of chairs and loveseats positioned in small groups.

"This room was created as a gift from Freelan to his beloved. Her eyesight began to fail early in life, and her one joy was music. She was an accomplished pianist and loved to play for the guests." He walked over to the piano and ran a finger over the sheen of the top. "Many times by many people the music from this piano has been heard in an empty room. Flora plays for the guests of today just as she did one-hundred years ago." He allowed himself a small smile. "She was not the only musical one. Freelan's great uncle, Liberty Stanley, was a violin maker by trade and he taught Freelan and his brother Francis everything he knew. At the age of ten, Freelan made his first violin with his brother. According to Freelan's journal, their only tools were jackknives. If you would like to examine the work of the children, the violin is on display in the drawing room. It is—according to the journal—the result of two boys' blood, sweat and tears."

He drew a deep breath, as if composing himself, and said, "Moving on. Let us visit the reception."

"But I've already been there," Sam murmured and Dean laughed, When Endeavour turned, looking pinched and annoyed, he quickly made his expression politely interested.

They came to a halt again in the middle of the lobby, facing the reception desk. Endeavour gestured expansively to the counter behind which a receptionist was filing papers and said, "He seems to be absent this evening, unfortunately, but it is here that most reported sightings of Freelan are found. He is said to stand behind the desk of his beloved hotel, watching the staff work." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "He has also been spotted in the whiskey room, which is where our tour will conclude, but before that I would like to invite you to visit the mystery that is room 217 with me."

Dean grinned at Sam who rolled his eyes. "Come on, Dean, let's go see the ghosties."

Following Endeavour, they made their way up to the second floor and room 217. Endeavour made a business of unlocking the door with an old fashioned key, as the door hadn't been fitted with a card reader. Dean guessed it was for effect, as it was a little more impressive than using a keycard to get into a haunted hotspot.

Sam patted his shoulder as he went into the room, and when Dean looked back at him, he saw fond amusement on his face. Dean didn't mind that Sam was amused by him. He was having too much fun to care, and it was good to see Sam so chilled.

Endeavour walked to the window and drew in a deep, dramatic breath. "This is the room in which Ms. Elizabeth Wilson, housekeeper, was injured by a gas leak in 1911. The blast blew her through the floor to the dining room beneath. Miraculously, she survived, albeit with broken ankles. She eventually returned to work at the hotel as head chambermaid. She remained here until her death in the 1950's and it is said that she stayed even after to haunt this room. This room has attracted all kinds of ghostly phenomena, since her death, so much so that it has been kept empty for the past decade."

"What kind of phenomena?" the boy armed with a notebook asked while the girl with him started snapping photos.

Endeavour looked pleased to have been asked. "Guests have reported clothes being folded and put away for them, a soft voice whispering in the night, and disembodied laughter. There have even been reports of unmarried couples finding themselves pushed apart in bed by an immovable force. We believe the very proper Ms. Wilson wants to maintain the hotel's reputation as an establishment of morality." He allowed himself a small smile. "You do not need to fear, there are never any reports of sinister or evil events happening here, because there are only happy ghosts at the Stanley Hotel!"

Sam barked a laugh and Endeavour's eyes fell on them again.

"Take a moment to absorb the vibrations of the room," he said. "Take photographs if you like. I will be right back with you. I just need to speak to these gentlemen." Dean felt his cheeks heat. If he wasn't wrong, they were about to be booted. Endeavour came to stand in front of them and he pulled a bill from his jacket pocket. "Gentlemen, I feel that our tour has disappointed you today,"

"No!" Dean said quickly, embarrassed. "It's been awesome."

Endeavour went on as if Dean hadn't spoken. "So, I would like to reimburse you your fee and invite you to retire to the whiskey bar. Tell your server I sent you and they will see you are catered to."

Sam took the bill and stuffed it into his pocket. "Thanks."

Endeavour smiled a hard smile. "I hope you have a pleasant stay at The Stanley Hotel. Good evening." He turned away and clapped his hands together. "That's right, everyone, feel the ghosts."

"Seems a little personal for close company," Sam said innocently and Dean laughed with him.

A throat was cleared behind them, and Dean thought it was better they made their exit before Endeavour really lost his temper and choked them with his bow tie.

They backed out of the room, still laughing, and came to a stop leaning against the wall. Sam held up the bill Endeavour had given him and said, "Whiskey?"

Dean grinned. "It's the polite thing to do."

Laughing together, they made their way to the staircase.

* * *

Sam woke up shivering. Without opening his eyes, he reached for the covers and dragged them over himself again. They didn't give the warmth he needed though, and as his eyes blinked lazily, he saw a mist in front of his eyes. He jerked upright and saw the mist was his breath in the air.

"Oh crap," he groaned.

"What's up?" Dean asked drowsily, his voice muffled by his pillow.

"The hotel's haunted."

"I know. Took a tour," Dean replied lazily, then laughed which quickly turned into a groan. "What's with the jackhammer?"

"That'd be your hangover." Sam threw a pillow at him. Dean caught it and covered his head with it. "Seriously, Dean," he said. "It's freezing in here."

"Close the window," Dean advised.

Sam scrubbed a hand over his face and gazed around the room. "Oh crap," he said again.

"What now?" Dean groaned.

"The hotel is haunted."

Sighing heavily, Dean pushed the pillow away from his face and blinked across at Sam. "What's got you convinced?"

"One, it's freezing in here. Two, there's a man staring at me." He pointed. There was a man dressed in period clothing standing in front of the bathroom door. He had grey hair and beard speckled with black and hard eyes. He was also very obviously a ghost.

As Dean looked up, he flickered and disappeared. "I don't see anything, Sam."

"Of course you don't." Sam swung his legs around to the edge of the bed and stood.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked.

"I'm going to get the EMF reader from the car."

Dean coughed awkwardly. "It's in my duffel."

Sam frowned. "You brought an EMF reader on our vacation why?"

"Haunted hotel. Thought it would be cool."

Sam chuckled as he went to Dean's duffel and pulled out the reader. He flipped it on and nodded, satisfied as the lights came on one by one and it started to hum.

Dean sat up against the headboard, looking supremely untroubled. "It's a haunted hotel, Sam," he said. "Of course the EMF is going off.

"Yeah, but it's an actual _haunted_ haunted hotel. This isn't Endeavour Brown leaning on the light switch or someone screwing with the air-con. It's real ghosts."

Dean yawned and then clapped a hand to his forehead and groaned. "Damn whiskey."

Taking pity on his brother, Sam fetched the bottle of aspirin from his bag and a glass of water. Dean received them gratefully and knocked back three of the pills with a gulp of water.

"Okay," he said tiredly. "Real ghosts and a real haunted hotel. Apart from the fact the tour was seriously underpriced for a real haunting, why is this a problem?"

"Because real spirits mean real danger," Sam said.

Dean just looked at him with an odd smile on his face. "Sam, you're the real expert here, I know that, but do you think maybe you're a little… prejudiced? Is it possible there could be ghosts out there that don't go vengeful? Could there be ghosts that just exist peacefully?"

"Folding clothes and playing piano, and watching me sleep," Sam said doubtfully. It sounded ridiculous, and he would never have accepted the idea from anyone else, but maybe Dean had a point. There had to be thousands of ghosts out there, and if they were all vengeful, people wouldn't be able to remain oblivious to it, even accounting for the blinkered beliefs most people had about the supernatural. "Huh… maybe," he said. "We'll look into the place's history a little deeper, see if anyone _has_ been hurt, and if not I guess we can leave them to their folding and stalking."

Dean looked satisfied and scooted back to lie down. "Awesome. Now, I'm going back to sleep for a few hours, wake me when the jackhammer goes away."

"Just in your head, Dean," Sam said brightly. "If you're sleeping, I'm going for a run."

"Running?" Dean said, peering up at Sam from under his blankets. "You drank just as much as I did. How come you're not suffering, too?"

"Years of practice," Sam said somberly. "Whiskey is my friend."

"Not mine," Dean grumbled, pulling the blanket over his head.

"See ya, Dean."

In response there was a muffled groan.

* * *

The aspirin kicked in and Dean was feeling more human thirty minutes later. He knew Sam would be gone a while because the trails around the hotel were much more inviting than the farm tracks round The Roadhouse, so he took his time in the bathroom, enjoying the powerful spray of hot water. He thought he would cut down the wasted time on the laptop searching for injured guests by getting to work on it while Sam was still out. He sat down at the table by the window and stared out while it booted up.

It was a beautiful morning. The sun was over the mountains and the sky was blue. Dean almost wished he'd gone on the run with Sam. He wondered whether he could persuade Sam to explore the park while they were there. The receptionist had said they could hire a guide to get to the best views. He didn't think Sam would be on board with taking along a stranger, but maybe they didn't need to. Sam had shown he was a good woodsman the last time they were in the area going after the Nixie.

He was still gazing out of the window when he noticed the teenagers who had been on the ghost tour with them the day before. They seemed deep in conversation about something. The huge camera was around the boy's neck this time, and he held a small video camera in his hands. They were definitely not lacking in tech, Dean thought. The boy raised the video camera and pointed it at the girl and she started talking, gesturing at the hotel excitedly.

The laptop beeped and Dean turned back to it. He opened a browser and started typing in keywords to search for a history of accidents or injuries at the hotel. He had to scroll through dozens of results about the housekeeper's accident that Endeavour had spoken about the night before. He was just reading a travel page review, which complained about the staff's disinterest when someone tripped on a loose flagstone and twisted their ankle, when he heard the scream. It had come from outside. Dean's gaze snapped to the window. The girl who had been on camera was sprawled at the foot of a short flight of steps, gripping her leg.

Dean got to his feet and grabbed his phone and the keycard door before leaving the room and jogging along the hall to the elevators.

By the time he got outside, there were a few people gathered around the girl, and Dean figured he wasn't needed to help now, but then he heard the girl say something that made him stop. "I didn't fall! I was pushed! The ghost pushed me!"

Dean closed his eyes for a moment and groaned, "Crap," before making his way over to the girl and pasting on a smile. "Hey. What happened to you?"

"The ghost pushed me down the stairs!" she cried. "I think my ankle's broken!"

"Has anyone gone to get help?" Dean asked the crowd.

"Yeah," the boy with her said.

Just then, there was a bustle of movement behind them and Endeavour Brown came through the crowd. He wasn't dressed for the tour today; he was in dark pants and a grey shirt, and Dean thought he looked somewhat lacking without his velvet jacket and bowtie.

"Dear me," he said. "What have you done to yourself, young lady?"

"I didn't do anything," she said. "Your ghost knocked me down the stairs."

Endeavour shook his head with a smile. "We only have happy ghosts…"

"Maybe we could save that for later," Dean suggested. "She needs a doctor."

Endeavour looked at him, seemed to recognize him, and frowned. "Someone is calling for assistance as we speak. We value the health and safety of all of our guests as the highest priority."

Especially when they're shouting about ghosts pushing them down steps, Dean thought. He turned his attention to the girl again and asked, "Are you here with your folks?"

"They're playing golf," she said.

Dean addressed the boy with her. "Maybe you could call them for her, let them know that she's had an accident."

He nodded and set down his video camera and pulled his cell from his pocket. He dialed and then began to speak in a rush. "Mrs. Crane, Ellie's hurt. A ghost pushed her down some steps and she's broken her ankle."

"Way to sugarcoat it," Dean murmured.

"There are only _happy_ ghosts at the Stanley Hotel," Endeavour said, a bite of annoyance in his voice now.

"Then who pushed me?" the girl asked stridently.

"I think you must have tripped," Endeavour said.

"No, it was your crappy ghost—the hotel guy from the tour. I saw him!"

Dean felt someone approach behind him, and he turned and saw Sam examining the scene. He raised an eyebrow and said, "Happy ghosts, huh?"

Dean shrugged. "I was wrong."

* * *

As they pulled through the gates of the cemetery Dean had discovered to be the final resting place of Freelan Stanley, Sam slapped the steering wheel and grinned. He'd been expecting a still serving cemetery with people visiting their dead and strolling the avenues. It was deserted though, and the graves all looked years old.

"Hey, we might be able to get it all done now," Sam said.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Great." His tone was strained though. He was stressed about something. Sam had asked on the way over if he wanted to talk about what was bothering him, but he'd refused. It was unusual for Dean, who usually liked to talk everything out, but Sam let him have his peace. If and when he was ready, Sam would listen.

He pulled the car to a stop and climbed out. "We'll have a look around first, yeah?"

Dean agreed and they set off through the heavy iron gates that led into the cemetery. "We're looking for the late thirties, early forties," he said.

"It'll be pretty big, too," Sam said. "As much money as they'd have had, there would be something impressive left behind to mark them."

They separated, each taking a different path and Sam's eyes roved the dates on the graves, looking for the right time for Freelan's date of death.

"Sam, over here," Dean called after a few minutes.

Sam jogged through the graves to where Dean was standing in front of a large grey stone mausoleum. Dean pointed at the name carved over the door: _Stanley._

Sam grinned. "Even better. No digging." He tested the door and found it was locked. He patted down his pockets and pulled out his lock picking tools he carried on him and handed them to Dean. "You want to have a go at the lock while I get the gear?" he asked.

Dean nodded and took the tools, bending to work on the lock while Sam jogged back to the car. He opened the trunk and took out the gas can before lifting the false base and grabbing salt and a shotgun for each of them.

He got back to the mausoleum in time for Dean to straighten and ease the door open. Sam patted his shoulder and went inside. There was a sarcophagus in the middle of the room that Sam guessed held both Freelan and his wife and also a stone plinth with an urn on it. Frowning, Sam wiped at the dust covering the urn and read the name. "Francis," he said. "That was the brother, right?"

Dean nodded.

"Huh, nice that he's here, too," Sam said. "Help me get this off." He grabbed the stone cover of the sarcophagus and pushed. With Dean shoving on the other side, they managed to slide it far enough to see both skeletons clearly. "We're going to have to do them both," Sam said. "Make a clean job of it."

He picked up the salt and split the box to shake it over the bones. He expected Dean to do the gas, but he was just staring down at the bones. Sam didn't want to push him, but he thought he really needed to know what was going on in Dean's head that was making him look so dour.

"What's up?" he asked.

Dean quickly shook his head. "Nothing."

"And you know I really doubt it. What's going on Dean?"

Dean sighed. "It's just… all ghosts go vengeful?"

"Eventually, yes, I think so," Sam said. At Dean's look of sadness he asked, "Why does this bother you so much?"

"Mom," Dean said so quietly Sam had lean forward to hear it.

"She's not a ghost." Sam said. "She moved on. She's in Heaven now."

"Yeah, but you said she was at our old house, tethered to the place. ""Was she vengeful?"

"No!" Sam said, stunned that Dean could even think it. "I told you, she saved me."

Dean smiled slightly. "I thought maybe you were just saying what you needed to say to make me feel better?" He framed it as a question.

"No, Dean," Sam said gently. "I wouldn't lie to you about that. Mom wasn't vengeful. She was gentle and sweet and everything Dad and you always told me. She stopped the poltergeist killing me. If she'd been vengeful, it would have been different. She was still our Mom."

Dean looked reassured. "Good."

Sam wondered though. Mary Winchester had been as sweet and gentle in death as she had been in life. She had saved Sam's life. Maybe that had been a part of what kept her sane when she was in the veil. Maybe her good nature had saved her that fate. Or maybe she just hadn't been there long enough to lose her mind.

He shook off the thoughts and upended his can again. Dean picked up the gas and poured it over the salt. Sam struck a match and dropped it down then stepped back from the flames that shot up.

"Sam!" Dean gasped.

By the door a man and woman had appeared. At first Sam thought they'd been busted desecrating a grave, but then he recognized the dated clothing and hairstyles. He had all of a moment to feel a pang of guilt at their stunned faces before they were dissipating into sparks.

"That's that done then." Sam turned to Dean and smiled slyly. "Think we should go back to the whiskey bar to celebrate?"

Dean winced. "I think I'd be better off sticking to a juice—"

He cut off suddenly as a figure rushed past him, coming at Sam with clawed hands. It collided with him and forced him back against the stone of the wall. His head hit hard and stars exploded in front of his eyes, blocking the view of his attacker. He had already seen enough to be very confused though as the fingers of the ghost curled around his throat. There was the bang of a gun and the hand around his neck disappeared. He winced as he drew air through his abused windpipe.

"Sammy!" Dean's face swam in front of him. "Are you okay? How many fingers?"

"Screw fingers," Sam rasped. "How many Freelans?"

Dean looked worried. "What?"

"I'm pretty sure I was just choked by the same ghost we just burned."

* * *

"You sure you feel okay?" Dean asked worriedly as he steered them into the hotel parking lot.

"I'm fine," Sam said.

Dean had checked Sam's pupils, ran a hand over the area he'd hit and Sam had finally declared that he saw three fingers, and it all looked good, but the crack his head had made at it hit the stone wall still echoed in Dean's ears.

"Maybe we should call Cas," Dean said.

Sam huffed a laugh. "Sure. We won't fight to save his brothers and sisters, but he should come and fix my headache. I'm fine, Dean. Just sore is all. I'll feel a hell of a lot better when I work out how Freelan survived the salt and burn when I _saw_ him go up."

Dean was confused, too. He'd watched the sparks eating away Freelan and his wife, but he had also seen Freelan choking Sam in the moment before he'd pulled the trigger on the salt round. There had to be an explanation, because there was no way for a ghost to survive a salting and burning.

He pulled the car to a stop and they climbed out. As they were walking back to the main entrance, Dean spotted the girl who had been pushed down the steps by Freelan tottering along the path on crutches. Her friend was walking backwards in front of her with the video camera.

Sam frowned as he looked at her. "She seems pretty happy for someone that was attacked by a ghost this morning, right?"

"I guess," Dean said slowly. "People process shock in different ways though. Maybe they gave her good drugs at the ER."

"Yeah, maybe," Sam said thoughtfully. They continued along the path slowly, coming to the pair just in time to hear the girl saying. "It shoved my shoulders, knocking me down, and then kinda leered down at me. It looked mean and pissed, and it was cold, like being touched by ice."

Sam came to a dead stop and Dean took a few more steps before realizing he wasn't beside him anymore. He turned and said, "What's up?"

In answer, Sam nodded his head at the young couple. "Ghosts don't feel like that. I call bullshit," he muttered. Dean's mouth dropped open as he turned to the teenagers and said in a friendly voice. "Hey, aren't you the girl that was attacked by the ghost?"

She faced him, beaming smile in place and said, "Yeah, that's me."

"Awesome!" Sam gushed. "I wanted to talk to you. I'm kinda interested in ghosts, too."

"Is that right?"

"Yeah," Sam said emphatically. "Mind if I ask you a couple questions?"

The boy with them said, "Sure she doesn't. Mind if I film you? It might make the vlog."

Sam's eyes widened. "Oh cool," he said, though Dean would have bet a bottle to Bobby that Sam didn't even know what a vlog was.

The boy raised the camera again and Dean tried to look as though this was normal for Sam when internally he was wondering if the knock to the head had concussed him in some strange personality changing way.

The boy raised five fingers and curled them in one by one. When he lowered his fist, Ellie said, "This is…" She gestured to Sam.

"Sam," he said.

"Well, Sam, what do you want to know?" she asked.

Sam pushed his hair back from his face and, looking hyped, said, "Okay, I was wondering what the fuck you were thinking when you faked a ghost attack." By the end his face was stony.

"I… uh…don't know what you mean," Ellie said.

Sam turned on the kid with the camera. "We know it's bullshit, so I want to know what the deal is. Planning to sue the hotel, are you?"

There was silence for a moment while the kids exchanged a glance laden with meaning, and then the boy said. "Nah, man, we're not suing anyone. We just want viewers."

Sam looked confused. "Viewers?"

"Their vlog," Dean said. "It's a video blog."

"Yeah," Ellie said, "Our vlog is about the paranormal, and we thought it would be cool to have a real ghost sighting to talk about."

"Except you didn't have one," Sam said stonily. "So you made one up."

"Look, man, it's not like we're hurting anyone. We just want to be famous. It was this or a sex tape, and our parents would be so mad…"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Ya think?" He drew in a deep breath and said, "Fine. You're dumbasses, which isn't really your fault, but if we hear you're trying to stiff the hotel, we'll tell them what you did and we'll tell your parents you _did_ make a sex tape. Understand?" Sam narrowed his eyes at them and they both nodded vigorously. "Good." He cast them one last scathing look and walked away with Dean.

Dean waited until they were out of earshot of the kids before saying, "Now what?"

"I don't know," Sam sighed. "The kids might've made up their story, but the ghost that attacked me was real. How did it survive the salt and burn?" He pulled open a door and gestured Dean in ahead of him. Dean walked into the lobby and stopped. Standing at the bottom on the staircase was Madam May, the hotel's psychic, and she was staring right at him as she crooked a finger.

"What's going on?" Sam asked squeezing past him.

"I think she wants to talk to us."

Sam glanced at the woman. "Okay."

He strode purposefully across the lobby toward her, Dean following. When they reached her, she crossed her arms over her chest and said, "You boys made one hell of a mess." She walked away and they followed her into a hall. There was a door with a poster framed on the wall beside it advertising her psychic skills. She unlocked the door and then led them in.

Dean's first thought was that it looked like a carnie tent. The walls were draped with hangings covered in crescent moons and suns, pentagrams and stars. There were four chairs arranged around a table on the middle of which was a pack of tarot cards and a crystal ball.

"Well you certainly look the part," Sam said, looking around with a skeptical look on his face.

"Thank you, Sam Winchester," she said.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "You could have seen the check-in form."

"I could have," she admitted. "But it wouldn't have told me that you are _the_ Winchesters who first doomed and then saved the world."

"It wouldn't," Sam agreed. "Fine. You're the real deal. That might be useful actually, because we've got a problem."

She nodded. "Yes, I know all about what you did to poor Freelan and how much you've upset Francis."

"The brother?" Dean asked.

"Yes, Freelan's _twin_ brother," she said pointedly.

Dean groaned. "Identical?"

"Yes. Francis Stanley, a great hunter of his time. You upset him somewhat when you banished his brother and sister-in-law. He clocked you both as soon as you come in, and I knew he would make your stay interesting, but I had no idea you were going to do _this_!" she finished angrily.

Sam had that concentrated look on his face he got when he was working through something, be it crossword puzzle or case. "But…" he said slowly, "Francis was cremated."

"Very good," Madam May praised sarcastically. "Now you have to find what he was tethered to, because you _cannot_ leave this hotel until you have made it safe again."

"We will," Sam said defensively. "We're not stupid, and we finish a job once we start."

She raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. "Really? Abandoning your angel friend to fight alone is finishing a job, is it? Leaving the battle against that cursed demon to the inept powers of Heaven is not stupid?"

Sam scowled at her. "That is none of your business. Now, do you know what he's tethered to or should we just burn down the hotel?"

Dean shifted uncomfortably. She had pissed Sam off, unsurprisingly. She'd pissed him off a little, too. She obviously didn't know the full story. She didn't know that they'd paid their dues, and even if there was something they could do, they deserved their planned futures.

"I could leave you two to blunder around for a week searching, you know that, don't you?" she said.

Dean nodded stiffly. "You won't though," he said.

"Won't I?"

"No. You love the hotel too much. You won't risk Francis taking out his anger on the rest of the people here."

"You are right. I do love this hotel. It's my home." Her lips pressed into a thin line. "I cannot be sure, because I cannot use the shine on a ghost the way I can a human, but I believe it's the only thing I know of that belongs to Francis here—the violin."

"Of course," Dean breathed. According to Endeavour, Freelan's journal had said their blood sweat and tears had gone into it, and with jackknives as their tools, it was pretty likely he meant blood in the literal sense. That could easily be the tether.

"Awesome," Sam said. "Thanks for your help. We'll let you know how it goes."

She scoffed. "You seem to be laboring under the delusion that I am going to merely let you toddle off and do this alone. You imbeciles will probably burn the piano instead. No, this needs to be done carefully and covertly."

"And what do you suggest?" Sam asked truculently.

"Meet me in the lobby at midnight. Bring your bags with you. You will be leaving straight after."

* * *

What Madam May said about them leaving Castiel to fight alone nestled in Sam's mind, and he spent the rest of the evening trying pointedly not to think about it and failing. He guessed from Dean somber mood that he was doing the same.

He was glad when time came to meet her again. The sooner they could deal with the ghost and get away from the hotel the better. The shine had definitely gone from their break.

Ten minutes before midnight, they shouldered their duffels and made their way out of the room and down to the lobby. Despite the fact they were early, Madam May was waiting for them already, tapping an impatient foot and scowling.

There was no one else in the lobby, even the desk was unattended, though there were voices and music coming from the whiskey bar. It felt like a lifetime since the previous night when he and Dean had befriended the barman and gotten roaring drunk on the many free refills he'd given them. It had been a good time and Sam was a little bitter that Ellen's well-intended gift had been marred by the supernatural.

"Come on," she said briskly. "Maxwell will be back from his smoke break and on the desk soon, and I assume you don't want to be recognized as the men that stole one of the pieces of history the hotel most values."

"We definitely don't," Dean said. Sam guessed he was thinking of how that could complicate an employment or college application.

She strode away from them, the draped sleeves of her lilac dress trailing behind her. Sam scowled at her back as he followed. If she'd been a better psychic, she would have known what they were going to do to Freelan and Flora and she'd have stopped them. Missouri would have known.

They walked along a hall that led off the lobby and came to a white-painted door with a brass plaque declaring it the drawing room. She eased it open and peered inside before shoving it all the way open and entering. Sam and Dean followed her in and Sam looked around the moderately sized room. There were armchairs and couches positioned around the fireplace where a small fire burned in the grate. Sam's eyes skimmed the small tables and decorative cabinets, searching for the violin, but he saw no sign of it.

"Up there," she said, pointing.

Sam followed her finger and saw the violin mounted on the wall among a group of black and white photographs of two identical children and adults. He reached for it and had his hand around the neck when Dean shouted his name and something bowled into him from the side, making him drop the violin. He grunted in pain as for the second time that day his head clunked into something solid—this time the floor. He'd missed the stone hearth by an inch.

Blinking stars out of his eyes, he saw Dean grab a poker from the fireplace and sweep it through the air, dispersing the ghost of Francis Stanley. Dean held out a hand and Sam took it, letting his brother help him to his feet. He was barely upright before the ghost was attacking again. He came at him with his hands outstretched and Sam was sure another choking was on the horizon for him, but then the ghost faltered and its mouth dropped open in shock.

"I'm sorry, Francis," Madam May said, and Sam turned in time to see her drop the violin on the flames. The old wood caught light like touchpaper. Sam looked back and saw the sparks eating Francis' form. Within a matter of seconds, he was gone completely and the only sound was the crackle of the flames and their harsh breathing.

"You okay, Sammy?"

Sam brought a hand to his head and felt the warmth of blood on his temple.

"He'll be fine," Madam May said. "Though you'd better be the one to drive for a couple of days."

Looking worried, Dean nodded. "Sure. Okay."

"And while we're on the subject of driving," she went on, "would you mind very much getting the hell out of my hotel?"

"Not even a little," Sam said, grabbing his duffel.

Dean hesitated for a moment before saying, "Thanks for helping up with this. We'll, uh, see you…"

"I sincerely hope not," she replied and then swept from the room.

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance and Dean said, "Home?"

"Definitely," Sam said. Fancy hotels and vacations were probably great but Sam was unimpressed by his first and thought he'd let it be his last for a while.

* * *

 **So… What do you think of the boys kicking back and having fun for a while? This was a fun chapter to write though challenging. As I've said before, I'm much more comfortable with angst and drama. Hope it made a fun read.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for working your beta magic on this. It's much appreciated. Thank you also SandraEngstrom2 and Gredelina1 for all your help.**

 **This is the chapter I am sure most of you have been expecting if not waiting for. Hope it's okay.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Six**_

Sam was asleep, his head resting against the window and his lips parted with soft breaths. He had offered to switch off driving with Dean, but after two knocks to the head and Madam May's warning, Dean thought it was better that he keep the wheel. He was quite happy to drive, with AC/DC playing quietly on the stereo and Sam's company when they stopped for gas and for Dean to load up on caffeine.

He was just thinking it was time for another break when the music flipped from Thunderstruck to a mariachi band and the volume ratcheted up a few levels.

Sam jerked awake, his wild eyes scanning the car and distance. "What's going on?"

"No idea," Dean said. He jabbed at the power button, but instead of cutting off the music got louder. Then the engine started to clunk ominously and Dean just had time to steer them over to the side of the road and engage the brakes before it failed.

The mariachi band still blaring, Dean opened the door and climbed out. He made for the front of the car, but the hood was already up and someone was there, waggling his hips as he poked and prodded at the engine.

"I think it's your carb," a voice Dean recognized drawled. "Gonna be tough to find a part. It's gonna cost ya."

"Gabriel?" Dean exclaimed, stunned for a moment by the insanity of the scene and then wondering what new backwards punishment disguised as a lesson was coming for them.

Gabriel pulled out from under the hood and grinned. "Hey, guys."

"Oh crap," Sam sighed.

"Nice to see you, too, Sam," he said. "Not that I was expecting a hug or anything, but a little gratitude would have been nice. Maybe a hello even."

"Thank you," Dean said quickly. "Seriously, thank you. I don't, we don't, have words." He'd been hoping for a chance to say it for a while. He, they, owed the angel more than they could ever repay for saving Sam.

Gabriel fixed his gaze on Sam and thumbed at Dean. "See? That's what I'm talking about."

"Thank you," Sam said seriously. "I appreciate what you did for me. You can't blame us for not skipping around at the sight of you, though. Where you go, trouble usually follows."

"I could say the same about you two," Gabriel said. " _I_ have never started an apocalypse. And if you paid attention, you'd see that my appearances, although sometimes uncomfortable, are intended to help."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Sticking me in bizarre world without Dean for months?"

Gabriel's lips quirked into a smile. "Didn't it help you appreciate your brother more?"

Sam didn't answer.

Through the open door of the car Dean could still hear the music. The mariachi band was now throwing itself into a rendition of _Celebrate_. The sound grated on Dean's nerves. "You mind making that stop?" he asked, gesturing at the car. The music cut off abruptly. "Thanks," he said. "Now, what did you do to the engine?"

"Oh, relax," Gabriel said breezily. "Your car is fine. I just needed to stop you. It was that or have you crash into me. I didn't think you'd be pleased if there was an archangel sized dent in the bumper."

"No, we wouldn't," Dean agreed.

"What do you need Gabriel?" Sam asked. "I'm assuming this isn't a social visit."

"No," Gabriel said empathically. "No offence, oh savior of the world, but when I want social time I go to people I actually like."

"Right back at ya," Sam replied.

Gabriel grinned. "There is something I want. I was curious, see, and I wanted to talk, but I didn't want Momma Bear making good on her promise to shoot me."

Sam huffed a laugh but Dean frowned. "How'd you know about that?"

"You think I'd go to all the trouble of bringing the sasquatch back and not hang around for the big reunion? No siree. I get my kicks where I can, and sometimes I'm in the mood for a little good cheer. You guys delivered."

"You were following me?" Sam asked.

"Yes, except for the 'were' part. I _am_ following you. I've been waiting for the right moment to sweep in and get to work, but you boys have been not working, so I thought I'd swing by and have a little chat. I've got a few questions, see."

"Like what?" Sam asked.

"Oh… like… what the hell?"

"You're going to have to give us a little more than that, Gabriel," Dean said.

Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose and looked pained. "I mean what the hell have you been doing?"

Dean thought he had an idea of where this was going and he braced himself for a fight. "We've been living," he said.

"That must be nice for you," Gabriel said. "I can name a few angels that haven't had the same luck at that. They had their grace ripped out before they were stabbed. Makes the whole 'living' thing hard to manage as they're, you know, _dead!"_

"We heard," Sam said dourly.

"I know," Gabriel said pointedly. "Got you under surveillance, remember. I've been watching the Hallmark reunions and you, Sam, making like the Mary Poppins of abandoned kids. I've seen your brother talking them through their nightmares, and I let it happen, because you were helping people and I figured you deserved that time, but this…" He waved a hand at them dramatically. "Fancy hotels and ghost tours, how is that helping anyone?"

"We dealt with a ghost," Dean said defensively.

"Yeah, a couple of peaceful spirits that _you_ made vengeful. I wouldn't brag too much about that job, guys. And I guess I could even see past that as a deserved rest if not for this college and career crap you two are plotting."

Dean stiffened. "That is not crap."

"Not wanting to insult your education, Dean, but it is. Do you really think Sam'll save more lives with a degree? If you go back to work, you'll make the kids' lives better, sure, but how many of them will be actually facing death without your help?"

"You have no idea," Dean said coldly. "We can still save people while living that life. And don't you think we've earned it?" He pointed at Sam. "Don't you think _he's_ earned it? He went to Hell for the world. He's given his life to the hunt. It's time he got what he wants."

"He has earned it," Gabriel said solemnly. "I know that better than you; I actually saw what happened to him in the pit. But… I don't wanna die!" His voice rose as he finished.

Sam scoffed. "Sure, you're the one at risk here."

"I am an archangel, you dumbass! Crowley wants to kill archangels. You think he'll give me a pass because I'm in witness protection? No. He'll take down Michael and Raphael and then come for me. I outed myself like a dumbass to you boys and your family, and all it'll take is the wrong word spoken and he'll know exactly what he's looking for."

Sam's brow furrowed and he had that thoughtful look in his eyes again. Dean could see him sifting through the facts and probably coming up with, _'Damn, guess we better saddle up and help again.'_

"You owe me, Sam," Gabriel said.

Sam nodded and Dean knew the battle was lost. Sam would help Gabriel because he didn't want to be indebted to anyone, least of all the archangel that had made their lives so difficult in the past.

Gabriel clapped his hands together. "Awesome. Glad you've come to your senses."

"One problem," Sam said. "How the hell are we supposed to protect angels? There's so many of you and only two of us."

"You can't," Gabriel said.

Dean threw his arms up. "Then what the hell do you want from us?"

"I want you to take down Crowley," Gabriel said.

Sam laughed. "Sure. I'll pick up your dry cleaning, too, shall I? That's equally as easy to do."

"You're underestimating yourself, Sam. You are a powerful and unique weapon against demons."

"No!" Sam said harshly.

Gabriel quirked an eyebrow. "No?"

"I am notdoing that," Sam said. "No blood. Never again."

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Because your suffering is more important that a host of angels? Really, Sam, that's pretty selfish. And stupid. I can wipe it from your system again. There's no need for you to withdraw. It'll be simple."

"You think this is about suffering?" Sam asked incredulously. "No, it's about the switch that flipped. It made the others insane and they had to be put down like dogs. I refuse to do that."

"Not even for the world?" Gabriel asked. "If Crowley succeeds and takes us all out, that leaves him as the ultimate power. What do you think he's going to do to the world then? You've learned that Dad won't step in and help, so who will save the world from him if not you?"

Dean saw every word hitting Sam like a dart, and he would have strangled Gabriel if he thought it would have made any difference.

"I can't do it, Gabriel," Sam said, his eyes drifting to Dean. Dean knew what he meant. He couldn't do it to Dean.

He didn't know whether Sam was right, whether going back on the blood and using that power would destroy him, but he wasn't going to find out. There had to be another way, any other way, to save the world again.

"Okay, "Gabriel said slowly. "Maybe not the blood. We can work something else out. You took out Samhain while you were dry after all."

"And it ruined him!" Dean growled.

"And Uriel fixed him," Gabriel said simply. "Anyway, not the problem right now; what matters is finding Crowley. He's been off radar for a while; he found a way to cloak himself from our senses. We need him taken down sooner or later, because with each angel he's taking, he's growing more powerful, and he's already more powerful than grace alone can explain."

"Cas didn't mention that," Dean said.

"Duh. Castiel is working alone on this. Michael wouldn't tell him if his head was on fire these days. He only puts up with him in Heaven because Castiel has the favor of God on him since his resurrection. Michael doesn't want to piss Daddy off, but he's also pissed at the little angel that could. Also, Castiel's not the brightest angel in the garrison. He's always felt too much and learned too little." He sighed. "Brass tacks, boys, we need Crowley found and soon. From there, we'll work out what to do."

"Okay," Sam said, a smile quirking his lips. "We sort that and call you when we've got something."

"Really?" Gabriel asked. "And how are you going to do that?"

Sam's smile grew. "Well, you might be an archangel, but Ash is a genius."

* * *

Sam had been looking forward to getting back to The Roadhouse. He'd imagined breakfast with them all and then a run while Dean caught up on some sleep, but instead he had to brace Ellen for a visit from her least favorite angel.

He pushed open the back door and entered the kitchen. Ellen and Jo were sitting at the table, breakfast in front of them. They looked up as he and Dean came in, and Ellen got quickly to her feet and came to Sam. "What happened to you?" She reached to touch the wound on Sam's temple and he pulled back.

"Haunted hotel? Actually haunted," he said with a smile.

Jo snorted into her coffee. "Nice one, Mom."

"I'm okay, though," Sam said.

Not trusting his reassurance, Ellen turned to Dean. "Is he?"

"Yeah. No sign of a concussion, which is pretty impressive given the crack his thick skull made."

"Thanks, Dean," Sam said.

Dean smiled slightly. "Anytime." His humor seemed a little forced and Sam guessed he was still pissed about Gabriel. He wasn't the only one, but Sam was more disappointed than pissed. Life had been really good for a while.

"Come sit down," Ellen said. "I'll get you something to eat."

"Maybe later," Sam said. "We've kinda got something going on right now."

Ellen tensed for a moment and then her face flushed. "What?"

"This Crowley thing," Dean said bitterly. "We're apparently saddling up."

"I thought you decided you were out of that," Ellen said, and Sam could hear her disappointment.

"We did," Dean said before Sam could answer. "But we got guilt tripped by a dick angel."

"Easy, Dean," Sam said, as Ellen asked, "What angel?"

"That'd be me," Gabriel said from the doorway. He raised his hands. "Don't shoot, Momma Bear. I come in peace."

"Sure you do," Ellen growled.

"He does," Sam said. He might have come to disturb their peace, but he wouldn't hurt any of them, Sam knew. He needed something from them and that would keep him tame for a while.

"So, you're the dick that dragged them back in."

"I dragged Sam out of Hell, too," Gabriel said. "Don't forget about that."

Ellen's mouth twisted as if she tasted something bad.

"Okay, Gabriel," Dean said. "We've said we'll help and we've said thank you. Quit throwing that in our faces and it'll all be good."

Dean sounded pissed. Sam didn't blame him. Dean wanted this college thing for Sam as much as Sam wanted Dean to get back to his kids. But Gabriel was right; they owed him. There was also the risk Crowley posed to the world. He wasn't just going to take out the archangels and call it good. He would want the world, too, though how they were supposed to stop him without him using blood again he didn't know.

Gabriel scowled at Dean and then turned to Sam. "So, where's the genius?"

"Ash? He's sleeping," Ellen said. "Why do you want him?"

"We need to get the demon program running again," Sam said. "We've got to find a way to track Crowley."

"You're going after Crowley?" Ellen's voice rose dangerously.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "No, they're going to make the coffee while the rest of us do. Of course they're going after Crowley. We all are. He's what you might call the Big Bad right now."

"Enough, Gabriel!" Sam snapped. "We're doing what you want. Quit being a dick!"

For a moment, Sam thought he'd gone a step too far, but Gabriel's expression morphed from mocking to something a little more neutral and he nodded.

"I'll get Ash," Dean said, going into the hall. He banged on Ash's door and shouted, "Come on, Ash. You're needed. It's the end of the world."

"Again?" a muffled voice groaned in response.

A moment later, Dean came back into the kitchen trailed by a bleary faced Ash with a major case of bedhead and his laptop in his hands.

"Ash, this is Gabriel," Sam said.

Ash nodded at the archangel and said, "Meet ya."

"We need the demon program running," Sam said. "We're looking for big signs, probably bigger than Yellow-Eyes."

"Worse than Yellow-Eyes?" All traces of sleepiness fled to be replaced with tension.

"Yep," Gabriel said cheerfully. "Welcome to the new apocalypse. It's not a good time to be an angel. Or a human."

Ash flinched. "Awesome." He set the laptop down on the table, sat down, and got to work. Gabriel watched over his shoulder, though Sam would lay money on the fact he didn't have the slightest clue what any of it meant. He figured archangels spent less time on computers than they did on their clouds. After a few minutes, Ash turned the laptop so Sam could see the screen. Green numerals and letters trailed up and down the screen and a map opened in the corner. "It's working."

"Thanks, Ash," Sam said. "If you see anything tag up on there, anything bigger than the usual, give us a call."

Ash nodded seriously. "Got it."

"And if _you_ get a call," Gabriel said pointedly.

"We'll pray," Sam said. "No problem."

Gabriel nodded his satisfaction, said, "I'll be in touch," and disappeared without a sound.

Ellen stared at the place he'd disappeared with a fierce scowl. Sam knew she was pissed that they were joining the fight, and she didn't even know about the college thing. He wasn't overjoyed about joining up himself, but it was the right thing to do. The decent thing to do. The owed Gabriel and they owed the world. Ellen would have to see that. She wasn't the only one.

"Dean, come with me a minute," Sam said.

Dean followed him out of the backdoor and into the yard. Sam walked to the car and leaned on the hood. Dean looked confused for a moment before Sam raised his eyes and said, "Castiel, we're at the Roadhouse and we'd like to talk if you're not busy."

There was a flutter and Castiel appeared. "What do you need, Sam?"

Sam felt like a dick. Castiel had what was essentially a war raging for his family, and he came to them straight away because he thought they needed something.

"We need to apologize," Sam said. "We've had some truth handed to us by Gabriel and he made us see that we've been dicks. We should have saddled up to help you fight as soon as we heard what was happening. We owe you as much as we do him. We were being assholes."

"You were hoping for a better future," Castiel said. "I understand that. You want different lives now." He looked Sam in the eye. "College and work."

Dean frowned. "How do you know about that?"

"I heard you talking at Bobby's," he said. "Angelic hearing doesn't miss much."

"Well, yeah we do," Sam said. "But that's no excuse for us backing out on your fight, _our_ fight. You're one of us, Cas, and we forgot that for a while."

"I am glad we are fighting together again," Castiel said, "but you made a good point last time. You cannot protect all of the angels."

"No, we can protect you, though. Gabriel seemed to think taking Crowley out is the only way to keep all the angels safe."

"How?"

"Sam," Dean said a bitterly. "Gabriel wants to use him like a weapon."

"But no blood," Sam cut in. "Whatever happens, I'm not going on the blood again."

"Good," Castiel said. "Nothing is worth that."

Sam nodded and smiled, and when Castiel started to tell him about what he had been doing in his attempts to protect his family, Sam listened, but in the very back of his mind he began to wonder. Was it true that _nothing_ was worth that? If it came down to it, the world or his own sanity, he knew which he would choose. Losing his mind and being put down wouldn't be as bad as the cage. He wouldn't ask Dean to do it this time either. He had learned since that asking his brother to kill him was possibly the cruelest thing he could have done to him. Gabriel would do the job for him—probably quite happily.

* * *

 **So… Gabriel has thrown an apocalypse size wrench in their plans. You can always count on him. Jerk. Things aren't all bad though. At least they're not in Hell anymore.**

 **Thank you all so much for the supportive reviews and PMs. I appreciate it more than I can say.**

 **In other news, this chapter includes my 1.5millionth archived word. Thank you all for encouraging and supporting me to this point. Here's to another million :-)**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank you Jenjoremy for beta'ing, and SandraEngstrom2 and Gredelina1 for all your help and support.**

 **Thank you all for reading, reviewing and supporting the story.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Seven**_

Dean woke alone in the room the next morning. He figured Sam was out running so he took his time cleaning up and getting dressed before going into the kitchen. Jo and Ellen were at the table talking. From their conversation, Dean understood that Jo had found a hunt and Ellen was trying to persuade her to let someone else take it.

"Sam out?" he asked when there was a pause in their conversation.

"In the bar," Ellen said distractedly.

Dean poured himself a coffee and carried it out of the kitchen.

His first thought when he saw Sam was disappointment. It was like stepping back a few years to when Sam would sit in the bar drinking alone. In his memory, Sam's expression was dour and he was staring down at a glass of amber liquid. Then he heard Dean and looked up and Dean realized his drink was coffee not whiskey and he was smiling. "Hey."

"You look tired," Dean observed.

"Rough night," Sam said. "I couldn't sleep so I sat up and watched the program. No sign of Crowley, but there are a butt-load of demons out there."

Dean glanced at the laptop screen and as he sat down opposite his brother. The map was enlarged on the screen and there were red dots spread all over.

"That what kept you up?" Dean asked. "Crowley?"

"In a way. I was thinking about Gabriel, too."

"What about him?"

"What he did when he brought me back," Sam said, tracing a hand over his unmarred neck. "When he brought me back it was like a clean slate. I have no scars, but it's more than that. I feel different, free, like something else has been wiped away in me, too."

Dean frowned, confused. "Like what?"

"The blood," Sam said. "The powers. I don't feel the weight of them the way I did for years—ever since I had my first vision. I feel lighter."

"Yeah, but…"

"I know. Everything else changed at the same time. I was free after all that time with Lucifer in the Cage. The absence of… what he did to me has to make a difference, but I'm worried I'll get in front of a demon and not be able to do anything anymore."

Dean considered. He thought perhaps Sam would feel better without the powers, as it would mean he was no longer tainted by Azazel. He was pretty sure if given a choice Sam would have wiped them from himself a long time ago. But it also made sense that he would want any advantage he could get over the demons and Crowley.

"Gabriel would know," he said. "He said you were a weapon."

Sam's mouth twisted into a grimace. "He did. He can't have had any experience with bringing back tainted souls from the pit, though. I was the first."

Dean raised a finger. "Tainted souls?"

"Not really the point here, Dean," Sam said. "You know what I mean anyway. How can we be sure I still have the abilities?"

"I guess we test them," Dean said.

"Exactly," Sam said. "We need to find a demon."

Dean realized he'd been herded into this conclusion and he scowled. It was the only way though. Sam needed to test himself for his own peace of mind. It was obviously really worrying him.

"Okay," he said. "We'll see if Cas can track us down a demon and we'll check it out. I'll see if Bobby minds us using the panic room again."

Sam smiled a satisfied smile and pushed himself to his feet. "You call Bobby and I'll talk to Cas." Sam wandered out of the bar, leaving Dean with his cell in his hand and a heavy feeling in his gut.

* * *

Bobby had no problem with them using the panic room and Castiel was more than happy to help them track down a demon. He seemed pleased to be doing something constructive for the cause for a change. From what Sam understood, he had been at a loss to do anything but protect himself and listen carefully for any angel that was caught out by the demons. Thankfully, there had been none recently as they were all staying in heaven as much as they could.

They made the drive to Sioux Falls in time to catch lunch. As Castiel wasn't there with a demon already, Sam conceded to eat with Bobby and Dean. The chili felt like Styrofoam in his mouth though, and he pushed his bowl away half-eaten. He was nervous about what was coming. What would he do if he couldn't use his powers? He had no faith that the knife would work on Crowley, and the colt had failed against an archangel; by all accounts Crowley was a threat to them now so would it work against him?

Neither Dean nor Bobby questioned his lack of appetite, and didn't seem to mind when he left them to eat and went down to the panic room. Castiel wasn't back, so he occupied himself setting up a chair in the middle of the room and gathering ropes. When he was done, he sat down on the cot with his head in his hands. He hadn't been back in the panic room since his withdrawal, and he wasn't comfortable there. The only comfort he had now was that he seemed to have Gabriel's assurance that he wouldn't ever have to go through withdrawal again.

His head snapped up when he heard the rustle of Castiel's arrival followed by grunts and groans as the demon struggled to escape his hold. He hurried across the room to them and, when Castiel had wrestled it into the chair, he wrapped the ropes around its chest. It was riding a man who looked about Sam's age. He had dark hair and tan skin. Though his face was twisted with anger, Sam thought he would have been handsome normally.

"Winchester," he growled.

"Demon," Sam replied then turned to Castiel. "Thanks, Cas."

"You are very welcome," Castiel said. "Is there anything else I can do?"

"Maybe tell Dean and Bobby we're good to go?"

"Of course." Never one to waste shoe leather, Castiel disappeared.

Sam turned his attention to the demon that was scowling up at him. Sam was pleased to see a flicker of fear in his eyes, knowing that his time out of the pit was coming to an end. Even if Sam couldn't do it himself, he would make sure the demon was exorcised rather than set free again.

"If you exorcise me, you're killing my meat suit," the demon said smugly.

"Your victim you mean," Sam said.

"Whatever. Check the hair line."

Sam stepped a little closer and yanked a hank of the demons hair, pulling its head back. There was an uneven area of hair, and as Sam probed the area, he felt a raised scar.

"What did you do?" he growled.

"Not me," the demon said. "I was doing a little breaking and entering, for the kids you know, and the daddy got a lucky shot in. Man, you should have seen his face when I didn't drop. It was almost as good as his face when I tied him up and burned down his house with him still inside. It was a good time."

"You're a monster," Sam said.

"Well if that ain't the pot calling the kettle black, I don't know what is."

Sam's response caught in his throat as the door opened and Dean and Bobby came inside.

"Hey, it's the otheruseless Winchester," the demon said gleefully, "and Sioux Falls' resident alcoholic. How's the liver, Singer?"

"Just fine," Bobby said easily.

Castiel appeared behind them. His eyes fixed on Sam, and he seemed to be assessing him. "Are you ready?"

In answer, Sam lifted his hand and nodded. He felt the eyes of the others on him as he fixed his own on the demon. He drew a deep breath and tried to block out everything but the demon itself. He felt for the rotted core and closed his fingers slowly. The first test was successful. He could feel the demon, so the powers were at least there still, but would they work?

He drew another breath and slowly clenched his fingers. He knew it would work even before the demon's grunt and then cry of pain. He could feel the pressure against his hand.

He released the demon and stepped back, breathing hard.

"Sammy?" Dean said tentatively behind him.

"It's okay," he replied. He fixed his eyes and mind on the demon and said, "Raise your arm." He knew it wouldn't work even before the demon's laughter broke through the room. There was no weight to the words the way there had been before. They were just words, not commands.

"Well that was a bust," he said bitterly, dropping his arm.

"It's okay, Sam," Dean said bracingly. "You couldn't do it without the blood before, either."

Sam was glad in a way that the switch that had been flipped wasn't still accessible. It hadn't ended well for the other special children. He nodded and reached for the demon again. He clenched his fingers, knowing even before he tried that he would not succeed. There was no killing the demon. He wasn't strong enough. Frustrated, he yanked his arm up and ripped the demon out of its meat suit. The smoke poured out of its mouth and down through the floor.

"Cas!" he said urgently, as the last of the demon disappeared and the man's chin dropped to his chest.

Castiel rushed forward and pressed a hand to the man's head. The man's eyes flickered and rolled and then his head dropped forward again, thought this time his chest moved with breaths.

Sam stepped back and watched as Dean and Castiel unbound the man and Castiel hefted him into his arms.

"Can you take him to a hospital somewhere out of state?" Dean asked.

Castiel nodded once and disappeared.

Sam raked a hand over his face. For himself, he was almost pleased he was limited in his powers, as it meant he was still himself. What had happened to him when he had been taken by Lucifer hadn't changed him as much as he'd feared. But for the fight…

Dean clapped him on the shoulder. "It's okay, Sammy," he said.

Sam nodded slowly. "Yeah. It's okay."

"For now, yeah," Bobby said, "But what are we going to do about Crowley now?"

Dean shrugged, but Sam thought he saw a little relief in his eyes that Sam wasn't going to be the weapon they used against the King of Hell. Sam felt a little selfish relief, too.

* * *

They were just on the outskirts of Lincoln, eating breakfast in a diner, when Sam's phone rang. They'd regained some of their good mood since leaving Bobby's early that morning. They were talking and laughing, and Sam smiled as he checked the caller ID and answered the phone. "Hey, Ellen."

Dean's eyebrows rose and he dropped his forkful of waffles onto the plate with a clatter.

" _Sam, where are you?"_

"Well, we are not at May's diner eating waffles because Dean had a craving and you still don't own a waffle iron. No, we're absolutely not doing that."

Dean scowled at him and Sam winked.

" _You need to come home,"_ she said, and for the first time Sam heard the strain in her voice.

He straightened in his seat. "What's wrong?"

" _Just come… please, Sam."_ Her voice quavered.

Sam slid out of his seat and gesturing to Dean to follow he made for the door. "What's happened, Ellen?" he asked.

He heard a gruff voice in the background and then the call disconnected. He started for the car at a run.

"What's going on?" Dean asked tossing some cash on the table and following behind him.

"I don't know," Sam said bitterly. "Someone's got Ellen." He stopped with his hand on the door as an idea occurred to him. "Gabriel, something's going on at The Roadhouse. I don't know who or what. We need help. We're going there now."

He yanked open the car door and threw himself inside. Dean slid into the shotgun seat and Sam brought the engine roaring to life. They flew away from the sidewalk and into the slow traffic. Sam cursed as he overtook a minivan at speed.

"Who do you think it is?" Dean asked.

"I don't know," Sam spat, his worry for Ellen and Ash paramount. Thankfully Jo had gone after a vengeful spirit in Iowa. "But if something happens to Ellen, I swear I'll…"

"I know," Dean said. "It'll be okay."

"You don't know that!"

"I know they let her call you, so you're their target not her. They'll keep her safe until they get you."

"Or us," Sam said. "If they know us well enough, they'll know we'll be together. Damn. I will _kill_ them if they touch her!"

Dean didn't say anything else and Sam was grateful. He knew Dean was worried, too. Probably just as close to losing his mind with worry as Sam was. This was Ellen. She was everything to them.

It felt like forever, but eventually they got onto the back roads that led to The Roadhouse. Sam gunned the engine, wanting to be as loud as possible so Ellen and whoever had her knew he was coming, that she would be safe soon and they would be dead.

There were no cars in the lot apart from Ellen's Ford. It was still too early for customers and no one had taken a truck-nap in the parking lot as sometimes happened. Sam skidded to a stop beside the Ford, leaped out of the car, and raced to the bar door. It was unlocked, and Sam threw it open and raced inside. What he saw there stopped him dead in his tracks.

John Winchester was sitting at a table with four men, angels, in suits flanking him. One of which he recognized as the dick Zachariah.

For a moment, Sam forgot it wasn't John. He just saw his father sitting at their old table, and he felt a rush of emotion. He almost said his name even. Then Dean spoke and Sam's hopes crashed back to earth with a jolt.

"Michael."

Not John. Not their father. Just another dick with wings.

Ignoring the angels completely, Sam crossed the room to where Ellen sat at a table in the corner with Ash. She rose to meet him and stepped into his open arms. As he held her tight he asked, "You okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, pulling back. "They didn't hurt us."

Keeping a hand on her, Sam turned back to Michael and, summoning all the hatred for him he felt, he asked, "What are you doing here, you dick?" in his most scathing tone.

Zachariah stepped forward, hands fisted. "You dare to speak to him…"

"I dare plenty," Sam said. "He might be something special to you all, but to me he's a body-snatching bastard."

Dean came to stand beside him, his arms crossed over his chest, and said, "Far as we're concerned, you're all dicks. Unless you're here to tell us you're giving us our dad back, we want nothing to do with you."

"Give him back?" Michael raised an eyebrow. "You ignorant ape. I will only give him up for one reason, and that is if you give yourself to me in his place."

"Dean…" Sam said in a warning tone.

"Never going to happen," Dean growled.

Sam relaxed infinitesimally. He hated that John was being ridden by the archangel, but he could handle it. He could live without his father because he had proved he could. He could not live without Dean. He felt like an asshole for even admitting it to himself, but it was the truth. He couldn't do it.

"Then we are at an impasse," Michael said. "I will not leave myself without a vessel again, and I will not take a lesser alternative."

Sam's hands clenched into fists. He would give almost anything to rip that bastard out of his father and set him free, but there was nothing he could do. It wasn't like him and Lucifer. He had been aware the whole time Lucifer was riding him, and he'd been able to take control when he saw Dean threatened. Michael said in the graveyard that John was in a dream of Mary. It was the only solace Sam had, that his father wasn't suffering.

"Now," Michael said, spreading his arms. "I didn't come to give up anything. I came for information."

"What do you want to know?" Sam asked.

"I want to know how you are walking the planet again," he asked. "It wasn't Castiel, I know that he failed, so how did you get out of the cage?"

Sam drew a sharp breath. He'd had no idea Castiel had tried to get him out. Dean shifted beside him and Sam thought they thinking the same thing—why hadn't he told them?

"You didn't know?" Michael sneered. "Yes, Castiel tried. I understand he made it all the way through the levels to the Cage itself. He found it impenetrable though, so I ask once more, how did you get out?"

Sam stared into his father's stolen eyes and a smile spread across his lips. "You're scared."

"I beg your pardon."

"You think _he_ could get out, too, don't you? What happened to the prize fight? You didn't seem too scared then, so why are you worried he might come back for round two?"

Zachariah's blade slid into his hand and he took one step forward before Michael spoke his name in a mild tone and he stopped.

"I am not afraid of Lucifer," Michael said.

Sam's smile widened. "And yet you look piss scared. What's the problem?"

Dean huffed a laugh beside him. "It's Crowley, right? You're scared they'll team up against you."

Sam nodded thoughtfully. "I'd be scared, too."

"Lucifer deplores Crowley and vice versa," Michael said.

"True, but war makes enemies allies sometimes," Dean said. "We had to take help from Crowley when it came down to it."

"Lucifer would never stoop to working with a demon."

"You hope," Sam said. "You can't be sure though, which is why you're terrified. Lucifer you could take out, maybe, but him _and_ Crowley… you'd have no chance."

Zachariah bristled with rage. Sam looked into his hated face and smiled widely.

"We did not come to speak about me," Michael said. "I want to know how you are back!" His voice rose as he finished.

"I don't know," Sam lied. Even if he hadn't hated the archangel with passion, he would not have told him what he knew. Information was power. Besides, he didn't want to out Gabriel as being around still. "I woke up in Stull. There was no one else there. I don't remember anything between being in the Cage and waking up. However it happened, whoever or whatever did it, I do _not_ know."

Michael narrowed his eyes at him. Sam stared back impassively.

"You're lying," Zachariah said, and Michael nodded thoughtfully.

"He is. Let's see how reticent he is when we break the woman's arms."

Zachariah smiled widely and started toward Ellen. Sam rushed forward, ready to defend, but viselike arms wrapped around his chest, holding him back. Sam heard a grunt of pain and saw Dean being held with one arm behind his back by another of the angels. Zachariah grabbed Ellen and dragged her into the middle of the room. Sam knew her well, he knew her tells, and he could see that she was scared even though she was glaring at Michael.

Sam struggled harder, stamping down on the angel's foot, but for all the good it did he might not have bothered. Zachariah grabbed Ellen's arm and lifted it. He wrapped his fingers around her right wrist and started to pull it back slowly, making the movement last.

"Stop!" Sam shouted. "I'll tell you everything. Let her go."

"Sam, no!" Ellen moaned

He couldn't bear it though, He could not watch the woman who was his mother in every sense but blood suffer. He opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment there was a rush of light and the air pulsed. The arms gripping him disappeared as the angels were ripped away and Sam started forward blindly towards Ellen. Dots of light dancing in his eyes every time he blinked, he reached her and dragged her into his arms. Her breaths were shaky and weak and he held her closer, murmuring reassurances.

Dean stepped up behind him and laid a hand on Ellen's back, adding his own reassurances to Sam's.

They stayed like that a long moment until a voice spoke cheerfully behind them. "Hey, fellas. Sorry I'm late. What'd I miss?"

Sam looked over Ellen's shoulder into Gabriel's cheerful face and he breathed a sigh of relief.

* * *

They were sitting around the table Michael had used. Ellen leaned heavily against Sam in a rare moment of vulnerability. She had a whiskey in her hand, but she wasn't drinking.

"So," Gabriel said expansively, "what did Mickey want?"

"To know how I got back," Sam said. "I didn't tell him."

"Thanks for that," Gabriel said. "Wouldn't want him on my ass."

Dean leaned back in his chair and sighed. He was a little shaken by the visit, and the absolute fear he had felt when they were going to hurt Ellen. He could bear pain for himself, he could suffer, but he couldn't bear to watch it in the people he loved.

"He's scared," Sam said, and for a moment Dean thought he was talking about him, but then he went on. "He's scared Lucifer is getting out, too."

"Not going to happen," Gabriel said confidently. "Trust me."

"I do," Sam said seriously.

Dean did, too, though it went against the grain to trust the archangel that had put them through so much. Despite the fact Gabriel said everything he had done was for their own good, he thought the archangel had enjoyed it, too.

Gabriel nodded. "I'm glad. You're going to need to trust me to make it through this. I don't think Mickey's going to come back. He'll be too afraid of whoever managed to banish him without him sensing them. I think he'll believe it's something to do with Crowley."

"He'll think we're working for Crowley?" Sam asked doubtfully.

"Like you said, he's scared," Gabriel said. "He's suspicious of everything and everyone. He won't come bothering you again, I'm sure."

Dean nodded thoughtfully and then asked the question that had been bothering him ever since he'd seen Michael sitting at their table in their father's body. "Gabriel, is there any way of getting him out of our Dad?"

Gabriel looked apologetic. "Not without help."

"Help from whom?" Dean asked.

"Crowley. There is a spell that can cast an angel out of their vessel. It requires the power of Hell behind it, though, and the strength to overpower the angel. With Lilith, Azazel and Alastair dead, Crowley is the only one with access to that kind of power left."

"That's a no then," Sam said decisively.

"Yep," Gabriel said, his expression morphed to apologetic. "Besides, there are more important things for us to do than free your father right now."

"Crowley," Sam sighed.

"Yeah, and his back up dancers."

"Who?" Dean asked.

"The angels that were attacked were targeted by a select group of demons. They seem stronger that regular demons, and like Crowley, the grace doesn't explain all their strength. We need to know what's happening."

"How do we do that?" Sam asked.

Gabriel shrugged. "No idea yet. As soon as I do, I'll let you know." He clapped his hands together. "Okay, I'm going to duck and run for now. I will be in touch if I hear anything, and you boys do the same."

Dean nodded. "We'll keep watching the program. Maybe something will show up."

Gabriel stood, glanced from face to face, said, "Take care out there," and disappeared.

"I hope he's right," Ellen said quietly. "I don't think we'll come out of another meeting with Michael as easily next time."

Sam pulled her close and pressed a kiss to her hair. "You'll be okay, Ellen. We'll take care of you."

She smiled ruefully, but didn't look reassured. Dean thought he knew why. Like them all, Ellen wasn't worried about herself. She was worried about the rest of the people she loved.

* * *

 **So… Sam's still powered up and Michael came for a visit. Asshole. Things are heating up in the next chapter which will be the first of a three chapter arc.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	8. Chapter 8

**Big squishy hugs to Jenjoremy for the fab beta job and to Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for all your help.**

 **I missed some familiar name in my inbox this week. Hope you're all okay and enjoying the story still.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Eight**_

Sam was helping Ellen fill the shelves for a day's trade while Dean was watching the program on the laptop. Sam was absorbed in the simple work, relishing the familiarity of it. He used to do this when he was a kid, staying at The Roadhouse. It had tapered off as he became more involved in the hunt until, when John died, he stopped altogether. He was enjoying it though, working in unison with Ellen, and his attention was only pulled from the task when his phone buzzed on the counter.

He checked the caller ID and smiled as he answered, "Hey, Jo." Whereas once she would only call when she had need, she'd call now just to talk. Sam thought she was still trying to get used him being back and the ability to make those calls hadn't yet lost the novelty.

" _Hey,"_ she replied. _"You busy?"_

"Nope, just bottling up. What's going on?"

" _It's this hunt. I'm all out of ideas, Sam."_

Ellen looked up and mouthed, "She okay?"

Sam nodded and returned to the call. "What do you have?"

" _Two bodies so far. One a young woman and the other a middle-aged man."_

"Cause of death?"

She scoffed. _"Cardiac arrest."_

The old ME favorite. If you can't find a cause of death, you call it cardiac arrest and all's good. "Do you need us to come?" Sam asked.

There was a pause, and Sam could clearly imagine Jo chewing her lip as she considered. She was established enough as a hunter now that she wasn't going to be embarrassed asking them to come help, but at the same time she wouldn't want to pull them in unnecessarily. _"If you can,"_ she said eventually.

"We can, no problem. Where are you?"

" _Just outside Columbia, Missouri."_

"Okay," Sam said. "We'll be there this afternoon."

" _Great. Thanks, Sam."_

"No worries." They exchanged goodbyes and Sam set the phone down on the counter again. Ellen stood opposite, her arms folded across her chest and her expression stern.

"What's the deal?" she asked.

"No idea," Sam admitted. "She's got two 'cardiac arrests' and I don't know what else. We're going to go see if we can help dig something up." He looked at Dean. "That okay?"

"Sure," Dean said. "I'll grab our stuff." He walked through to the back.

Sam followed him into the hall and stopped by Ash's door. He rapped on the wood, and when he heard a groan, he called through the wood. "Ash, Dean and I are heading out of town for a while. Keep an eye on the program, okay? If anything shows up, call us straight away."

"Yeah, man, no problem," Ash's sleepy voice replied.

Sam walked back into the bar and looked at Ellen. "I'm going to call Cas, ask him to come hang for a while, okay?"

"I don't need a babysitter, Sam," she said.

"I know," Sam said quickly. "But you'll need someone to keep an eye on the program when you guys are busy. He knows how it works now, right?"

Ellen frowned but nodded. She could see through Sam's excuse easily, as she knew him too well. He wanted her safe though. He didn't think Michael would come back, but he'd feel better if someone else was there to play backup.

"Keep the sigils fresh," he added as Dean came back into the room.

"And don't be afraid to use them," Dean put in.

"I won't," Ellen said patiently. "And you boys take care of each other and Jo. I want you all back here as soon as you're done, understand?"

"Understood," Sam said. "Don't worry, Ellen. We'll be careful."

"You better," she said. She patted Sam's hand where it lay on the counter and looked into his eyes. "You just better."

* * *

Jo met them at a small restaurant called Cathy's Creations. It was more of a bakery with a tearoom attached, but they sold sandwiches, cake, and—much to Dean's delight and Sam's amusement—freshly baked pie. They exchanged news and caught up on what they had been doing apart, Jo demanding reassurance that her mother was really okay after Michael's visit, and then got down to business.

"I didn't actually come here looking for a hunt," Jo began. "The first man who died was an old college friend's, Macy's, father. I came when I heard, just planning to be here to support her, and that's when the hinky started. The guy was healthy as a horse, a runner, healthy eater. One morning the housekeeper went in as always and found him dead in his bed."

"And they're calling it cardiac arrest?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, but he didn't have any risk factors at all," Jo said bitterly.

"How can they get away with that in this day and age?" Dean asked. "It's insane."

"It's human," Sam said. "They don't want to delve too deep in case they find something they don't want to know." He shrugged. "Ignorance is bliss, I guess."

"And the second death?" Sam asked.

"That's when I realized something was really going on. Young girl home from college for summer break. I don't know as much about her, as I haven't been able to see the family yet. She died two days ago. Again, they just said cardiac arrest was the cause of death."

"What do we do then?" Dean asked.

Sam considered, rubbing absentmindedly at his jaw. "I want to talk to these people, your friend, the housekeeper, and if we can, the girl's friends or family. I want to see if the health thing was an anomaly and if there's anything linking them apart from their deaths."

"Feds?" Dean asked.

Sam's mouth pressed into a thin line. He thought Feds were a shaky excuse for something like this, but then again they'd gone in weaker before. They were more likely to get the information as feds than reporters. "Feds," he said reluctantly. "We'll go by the morgue as investigating the deaths as suspicious because of the timeline between the two. Maybe some poison or chemical."

That actually wasn't such an unlikely thing given that two people in the same town had died the same way. It may not be a supernatural threat at all. He understood Jo wanting to treat it as a case, as then she could help her friend, but you don't always find what you want in life.

"Great," Jo said. "We ready to head out then?"

Sam saw Dean eyeing his plate of half-finished pecan pie longingly and he smiled, "In a few. It's not going to make a difference if we're a little slow, and Dean's not finished his dessert."

Dean smiled gratefully and Jo laughed as he picked up his fork and went to town on the pie. It was the little things like this that Sam could do for his brother that showed the difference these days to the man he had been once. There was a time in which Sam would have been out the door before Jo could even finish her question. He wasn't such an asshole anymore.

* * *

They booked into the same motel as Jo and changed into their fed suits. Jo was going back to see her friend who was in the middle of planning her father's funeral.

Though he had spent his life steeped in death, Sam had never been to a regular funeral. All the people he knew who had died had been hunters, and their funerals were flames and remembrance with alcohol, much like his own memorial had been, minus the flames.

He hadn't thought much on what would come after his death other than his revelation that Dean would have a good life eventually. He wouldn't have expected that it would take the people he loved a year to hold a funeral of sorts though. He wished he could have been back a day earlier so they wouldn't have had to do it at all.

"You okay?" Dean asked, breaking into his thoughts.

Sam looked at his brother, really looked at him, and saw the brightness of his eyes, the smile hovering beneath his concerned question, and said. "I'm fine."

He knew the lightness in Dean wasn't because they were on a case, working to save someone; it was because they were together, looking into a future that wasn't all death. It was college and work, and a different kind of saving. Though it would not be the end of hunting. Sam could never turn his back on it after the life he had led. He thought he could balance both. The deal he'd made with his father in the djinn world would work for him—summers and breaks dedicated to the hunt and the rest of the time he would live for himself. He would make it work.

He stepped in front of the mirror and adjusted his tie, still not quite accustomed to the lack of his scar. His reflection smiled as he took in his unmarred skin. Gabriel had done him a favor there he'd never imagined. Satisfied he looked the part, he tucked his fed badge in his pocket and asked Dean, "You ready?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

They went out to the Impala and Sam tossed Dean the keys. Though Sam appreciated the car for what it really was to them—never just a car—he knew Dean liked to drive it more than him. Dean was making up for the years he didn't have the opportunity.

He grinned as he caught the keys and slid in behind the wheel. Sam climbed in and closed the door. "The morgue is at the hospital," he said.

Dean nodded and pulled out of the lot. Sam had checked the location of the hospital and PD when they'd got to the motel, as they always did. Little said shady fed better than asking for directions.

As Dean drove them through town, Sam sent off a quick text to Ellen to check in with her, keeping it casual: **Met with Jo. All okay. How are you?**

The reply came fast and he could imagine the eye roll that accompanied the response: **Busy. Castiel is as much help as a chocolate teapot. Next time set me up with a babysitter who can pour a beer.**

Sam snickered and read the message to Dean who grinned. "Do you think she really has him working the taps?"

"No way. I'll bet any money Cas is standing at the bar, staring at the program like he's on a recharge cycle."

Dean laughed. "Poor Ellen. Gotta say, I feel better knowing that he's there though. I know Gabriel says Michael won't come back, but I'm not completely reassured.

"Me either," Sam said.

They fell into thoughtful silence until Dean pulled them to a stop in the parking lot of the hospital where they climbed out and smoothed the creases of their suits and made for the door.

As Sam had come to expect now, the morgue was located in the basement. He wondered if it was a throwback to the days when being below ground was the best way to keep things cool or if it was because people didn't want death on display in their hospitals. He thought probably the latter. You didn't need reassurance the morgue was close when you were coming in for your appendix.

They made their way down in the elevator and then along a white painted corridor to double doors. Sam cleared his throat, slapped on a professional smile and pushed the door open.

There was a young man behind a desk inside, and he looked up interestedly as they entered. Sam guessed there weren't many visitors here that weren't deceased or pushing a gurney.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" he asked politely. He was young and Sam thought perhaps he was a college student doing some work for the summer.

"We're with the FBI," Sam said. "We're looking into the deaths of Mr. Ian Cleave and Miss Haley Sutcliffe."

His eyes bugged slightly at the mention of FBI, and Sam's suspicions he was temping were reinforced. He got to his feet and said, "I'll get Doctor Goldman."

He walked through a second set of doors and Sam heard muffled voices inside before a middle-aged man came out, smile in place and hand extended.

"I hear we have a federal visit," he said. "Pleasure to meet you gentlemen. I am Alan Goldman."

Sam held up his badge. "Agent Page. We would like to talk to you about the Cleave and Sutcliffe deaths."

He gave the badge a perfunctory glance and nodded genially. "Come on through."

They followed him through the doors into a large room with three stainless steel tables with drains beneath and a bank of steel door refrigerators against one wall. He closed the door carefully behind him and said in a low voice, "Chris is a good boy, eager to learn, but he can talk like no one's business and I don't want everyone at the Eight Ball Bar knowing why you fellas are here." He frowned slightly. "I have to admit, though, I am a little confused. Why are you here?"

"Tell the truth, I'm not too sure," Sam said with a deprecating smile. "We come where we're sent, as I'm sure you can understand. Someone in the chain of command wants these deaths checked over." He lowered his voice slightly. "I think there is suspicion about the nature of these 'natural' deaths. We were asked to ensure a comprehensive tox screen has been carried out."

Doctor Goldman looked curious. "You think this could be murder? Some kind of terrorist plot perhaps?"

Sam shook his head—he didn't want a theory of terrorism taking over the town. It would cause needless panic. "I don't think terrorism is a threat here. If it was, someone much more experienced and important would have been assigned the case. I think we're just dotting some i's and crossing some t's here."

Dean took over for him. "Has there been a full tox screen carried out?"

"Actually, there has," he said. "I ran it all because of the nature of these deaths, but there was nothing tagged as abnormal. As far as I can tell, these people were perfectly healthy until the moment of their deaths."

"Is there any similarities between them?" Dean asked. "Outside of the fact they're dead?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "There is, but it's a little unusual."

Sam's attention tautened. "Yes?"

"I think it's easier to show you than tell you." He walked to the bank of refrigerators and checked the tag on one of the doors. He pulled it open and eased out a tray bearing a sheet-covered body. "Here," he said, drawing back the sheet covering the face. The body was that of the second victim, Haley Sutcliffe. She had curly red hair and pale skin. She would have been pretty, Sam thought, if not for the contorted way her features were twisted. He had seen a lot of bodies, and he was used to the peaceful look they usually wore. This girl was not peaceful. She looked… terrified.

"That's…"

"Strange, yes," the doctor said. "The very nature of death and the lax muscles usually mean the deceased are left looking what people choose to see as peaceful, but Haley here, as you can see, seems to have been extremely afraid."

"Terrified," Dean breathed.

"Yes," he agreed. "I have never seen anything like it, nor have any of my fellows I've reached out to."

"Is it possible to be scared to death?" Dean asked.

"Yes. It is exceptionally rare, but it's possible. I am sure you have felt the sensation of your heart stopping when confronted with something exceptionally stressful; that's a side effect of the adrenaline released. It's possible that the body doesn't deal with that adrenaline properly. That stress can kill."

Sam frowned down at the girl, her young face so twisted with fear. It seemed tragic and wrong that someone so young could be stuck down by something like this. It backed up the supernatural element though. It was a case.

"Thank you for your time," Sam said. "If you could just provide up with a copy of the autopsy reports, we can leave you in peace."

"Of course. Speak to Chris and he will arrange that for you." He hesitated and then said, "Look, gentlemen, these are the strangest deaths I have ever come across in my career. If you discover what happened, will you tell me?"

"Absolutely," Sam lied. "I will make sure you're fully apprised of any discoveries we make."

"Thank you," he said gratefully. "I wish you the best of luck gentlemen. I have a feeling you're going to need it."

Sam thought he was right.

* * *

By the time they finished at the hospital, it was too late to do anything but head back to the motel with takeout. They sat at the table eating their Chinese food while Jo sat cross-legged on Sam's bed with a carton of noodles in her hand, discussing what they'd seen at the morgue.

"Scared to death?" she asked.

"Yeah, it was…" Dean trailed off.

"Horrible," Sam finished for him. "That poor girl."

Jo shuddered. "And Macy's dad was the same?"

"Apparently so."

"What kind of monster can do that though?" she asked.

Sam sighed. "That's the problem. I think it could be one of pretty much any. Think of all the things we've seen on a hunt before, and think of how scary they'd be to a civilian. Hell, it could even be a vengeful spirit feeling extra cruel."

He didn't know what to do or even where to start. They could be going up against pretty much any creature they'd tangled with before. Anything they'd hunted was a suspect.

"What are we going to do?" Jo asked.

Sam rallied for some plan, even something small they could start with. He wanted to reassure her that they weren't powerless, that her friend's father wouldn't go unavenged. There was also the fact the monster could be preparing to attack again even now. Just because there had been a week's space between the first two deaths, it didn't mean there would be again.

Thankfully, Dean came in with an answer for him. "We do what we planned to do originally. We go to the family and friends next, see if we can come up with anything from them. There might have been something mentioned before the death, or some other sign even."

Jo looked reassured. "Okay then. I'll take Macy and you guys see if you can get anything out of Haley's family." She dropped her fork in the carton and rose smoothly to her feet. "I'm going to call Mom and check in and then crash."

Sam nodded. "Sleep well."

She smiled a strange, secret smile and then did something Sam wasn't expecting. She pressed a kiss to his hair as she passed and patted his shoulder.

As the door clicked closed behind her, Sam raised an eyebrow at Dean. "That's weird."

Dean laughed softly, a mere breath of amusement. "She's missed you, Sam; we all did. You were gone much longer than a year, and not just for me."

Sam shifted uncomfortably. He was aware that he had spent the years since his father's death dragging himself back to being a somewhat decent person again, and he knew it had been hard for his family to deal with. He only hoped the way he was now made up for a little of what they had missed.

* * *

 _The air stank of sulfur and it chilled Sam to the bone. He was running, racing away from the threat he knew was hot on his heels. He never ran fast enough, though, and there was nowhere to really escape to. He reached the bars and his fingers curled around them. They were too narrow for him to reach out of. No more than his fingertips could have freedom now. It wasn't enough. While some part of him knew that he was there for a reason, he had made the choice to do this to himself, he was still so desperate. He hadn't known—no human could conceive of it—what was going to happen to him. There were no words for the feeling of Lucifer's cold hands on him. The blade cutting into him, flensing flesh from his bones, hands delving among his organs, pulling them out of his body one by one and presenting them to Sam for examination. And the voice that whispered to him, "You chose this, Sam. You dragged me back here. You deserve your punishment. You know that, don't you?" That was almost worse._

 _He heard footsteps behind him and within his dream, Sam cried out, making barely a sound in the real world as adrenaline flooded him._

 _Beside him, his brother slept peacefully._

* * *

Sam was sleeping when Dean woke the next morning. He didn't look peaceful though. His brow was creased and an occasional moan slipped from him. He didn't wake as Dean started moving around the room either, which was unusual. As Dean's name slipped from his lips, Dean decided enough was enough. Knowing better than to wake him from a nightmare with touch, he stood at the end of the bed and called Sam's name loudly. "Wake up!" he said firmly.

Though he hadn't touched him, Sam still woke with a jerk and reached for his gun.

"It's okay," Dean said quickly, raising his hands. "It's just me, Sammy."

Sam blinked at him and slowly lowered his gun. "Dean?"

"Yeah. Who were you expecting?"

Sam shook his head. "Nothing. I mean, no one. I'm okay."

"And yet I really doubt it," Dean said.

Sam pushed back the bedclothes and sat on the edge of the bed, raking a hand over his face. "Just had a rough night is all," he said tiredly. "It's the case."

Dean wasn't feeling comfortable with the sheer magnitude of their task—finding a creature to kill—so he accepted Sam's excuse and grabbed his duffel from the floor at the end of his bed. "I'll get dressed and then go get us some coffee."

"Thanks, Dean," Sam said, getting to his feet and staggering to the bathroom. "I'll clean up."

Dean dressed quickly and took the keycard from the table. The cool morning air felt good against his face. It chased the last of his sleepiness from him. He set off down the street towards the bakery they'd visited the day before. It was a popular place, and he got on the end of the queue that wound away from the counter. The only people talking were the server and customers placing orders. When it was Dean's turn, he flashed the young server a smile and ordered three coffees and pastries. A few minutes later he was walking back to the motel with a carrier of coffees in his hand and a bag of sweet smelling danishes.

He knocked on Jo's room as he passed and called, "Breakfast."

Sam was showered and dressed when he got into the room and looked more awake than he had been when Dean left. He grabbed one of the coffees though and pulled off the lid to drink it faster.

"I got food, too," Dean said.

Sam held up a hand. "No thanks."

There was a knock at the door then and Dean opened it to let Jo in. She looked the complete opposite to Sam—bright eyed and ready to get to work. She dived on the sack of pastries and moaned happily as she took a bite. "Thanks, Dean," she said around a mouthful.

"There's an extra," he said, taking his own.

Jo swallowed and said, "Not hungry, Sam?"

"No," he said, then changed the subject. "You spoken to your Mom yet?"

"Yeah. She said she's fine; Castiel is fine, too, even though he's a crappy conversationalist. Bobby's coming by later, and if she finds out we arranged that, she'll kick our asses."

"Nothing to do with me," Sam said.

"Nor me," Dean said. "I guess Bobby just wants to check in himself."

Jo licked her lips as she finished the last of her breakfast and picked up her coffee. "I've called Macy and she's expecting me to come by this morning. You guys arranged your visit?"

Sam shook his head. "We'll go in unannounced. It tends to make people a little more open when they've not had time to stress over why you're coming by."

For a moment, Dean thought about cautioning Sam to go easy on the victim's family but he quickly stopped himself. This wasn't the Sam of before, the one who needed to be guided sometimes to treat people gently. It was just that his tiredness seemed to have put him in a dour mood, the kind of mood he used to be in all the time.

Dean ate his breakfast in thoughtful silence and watched as Sam drained the last of his coffee and set the cup down. He flipped open the file they'd got from the morgue detailing the autopsies and the victims' family contacts. "Hayley's folks are on the other side of town," he said.

"Let me change into my suit and we'll head out," Dean said.

Sam nodded idly and pushed the file away. "Okay," he said, leaning back in his chair and rubbing a hand over his face again. As he sighed, Dean took in the sight and mulled over how tired his brother looked. He wondered what exactly had been in that nightmare to make him look like that.

* * *

The Sutcliffes' home was a nice two-story with freshly painted trim and two recent model cars on the driveway along with an older Nissan Sam guessed had been Haley's.

Dean took the lead at the door, introducing them and explaining why they were there. The first thing Sam noticed about both of Haley's parents was that their grief was like a shadow over them. He could relate; he'd felt loss like theirs more than once in his life.

They were led in the living room and Sam looked at the pictures of their family on the mantelpiece. It was sad to see the girl they'd first seen in the morgue surrounded by her parents and younger siblings, happy and alive.

Mrs. Sutcliffe noticed where his attention was and she choked a sob. "That's our Haley."

"We're sorry for your loss," Sam said and Dean nodded his agreement.

"Thank you," Mr. Sutcliffe said. "I don't really understand why you're here, though. Haley's death was…" He looked uncomfortable.

"Stephen, no," Mrs. Sutcliffe said quietly.

"I'm sorry, June, but they should know."

Sam leaned forward slightly. "Do you know something about the circumstances of your daughter's death?"

Mr. Sutcliffe seemed to brace himself. "It was not natural."

For a moment, Sam thought he meant he knew it was supernatural in origin, but Mrs. Sutcliffe spoke angrily. "No! I will not let you do this!"

Her husband shot her an apologetic look and then went on. "Haley wasn't in her right mind when she died. She was… influenced."

"By?" Sam asked.

"I'm not entirely sure," he admitted. "I just know that she was not herself. She fell in with a bad crowd, and before we knew it she was taking that stuff."

"Drugs?" Dean asked.

Mrs. Sutcliffe sucked in a sharp breath, but Mr. Sutcliffe nodded. "Yes. It happened fast. She made those friends and then within weeks she was changed. A week after that, she was dead."

"How do you know it was drugs?" Sam asked.

"Because she was so different. Hyperactive. Paranoid. Scared."

Sam's eyebrows pinched together at the word scared. She certainly had been at the moment of her death. "Do you know what she was taking?" Sam asked.

"Some kind of pill," Mr. Sutcliffe replied. "My youngest daughter, Olivia, saw her taking one."

Dean and Sam exchanged a glance. There had been no evidence of drugs in the toxicology screen but there were some drugs, poisons and chemicals that left the system faster than others.

"Do you mind if I look around her room?" he asked.

Mrs. Sutcliffe just cried harder into her tissue but her husband nodded. "Go ahead. It's the first room at the top of the stairs."

Sam stood and walked out of the room and up the stairs. Haley's bedroom door was closed, and when he opened it and went in, he caught the faint scent of perfume. It was sad that only a matter of days ago the girl who had lived here had used this place as a sanctuary but was now in a morgue fridge.

He looked around, wondering where to start. He made for the dresser, and taking a deep breath, he opened it and rooted through the make-up and hair combs for something that would indicate drugs. He still wasn't convinced that drugs had played a part in the death, but he needed to make sure as much as he could.

"What are you doing?" a voice asked behind him.

He turned a saw a young girl. He guessed she was around eight or nine, and she looked a lot like her older sister.

"Olivia?" he asked.

The girl nodded.

"Hello, Olivia," he said. "I'm Sam. I'm looking for… clues, to find out what happened to Haley."

Olivia shifted from foot to foot. "You're looking for her magic pills?"

"Why do you call them that?" Sam asked.

"She told me. They kept away the nightmares. They're in her special box in the closet."

Sam crossed the room and pulled open the closet. There was a stack of shoeboxes on the floor, but one looked as though it had been pulled out and put away roughly. He took it out and carried it over to the bed, Olivia's eyes fixed on his every move. He took off the lid and saw, among a journal, a corsage and a dozen other things that would have mattered to a young girl, a bottle of pills. He checked the label and saw they were marked with the brand name No-Doz. He was familiar with them from use years ago; high school and hunting had made them necessary sometimes. He uncapped them and tipped a few into his palm. They were indented with the brand name. Unless drug dealers were becoming extremely clever, he thought they were the real thing.

"Haley had nightmares?" he asked Olivia.

She nodded slowly. "Real scary ones. She said the pills helped."

If nightmares were the problem, not sleeping would help for sure. Extreme lack of restful sleep would also explain the paranoia and hyperactivity. Sam had pulled enough all-nighter streaks to understand how that felt.

"Thank you, Olivia," he said. "This will really help me."

"Are you going to tell my Mom and Dad?" she asked worriedly.

"Do you want me to?"

"No, they're sad about Haley. They'll be mad if they find out."

"Then I won't tell them," Sam said.

She looked relieved and Sam smiled. "Thank you," he said again and made for the stairs.

* * *

"Drugs," Jo said thoughtfully. "That'd could be it, I guess. They do all kinds of things to your body."

"What about your friend's dad?" Dean asked. "Any sign of drugs in his life?"

Jo shook her head. "I've only spoken to Macy, and she hasn't mentioned anything like it, though I doubt she'd know anything about it if there was. She and her dad weren't all that close. She got her own place when she finished college on the other side of the state. She came back to deal with the funeral."

"I don't think it was drugs," Sam said, not for the first time.

Dean tried hard to remove any sign of sympathy from his face as he looked at Sam. He understood it. Sam was obviously affected by the death of the young girl. He seemed to have connected with her as a person more than he usually allowed himself to do, perhaps because he'd been in the house, seen the family's grief, the photographs, her bedroom. He didn't seem to _want_ it to be drugs. He had found caffeine pills, but Dean would have bet there was something else in that room that he'd missed. He'd been through college and seen the drug culture there and in his work. He'd even shared a dorm room with a drug dealer. Sam saw monsters where Dean saw drugs in this case.

The truth was the changes in behavior in Haley could be easily explained by drugs, as could the cardiac arrest, and if the supply of whatever they had taken was tainted, the cardiac arrest would make even more sense. Though what they were supposed to do about a drug chain he didn't know. As well as they played the part, they weren't feds.

Sam seemed to see the sympathy in Dean's eyes anyway, and he scowled and turned away to address Jo. "Do you know anything about Cleave's friends or job?"

"He was some kind of city dealer for this company Cohen and Cline," she said. "Not sure exactly what he did. I just know it was a big job that paid well enough for his big-ass house and Macy's convertible. Why?

"If Macy doesn't know much about her dad, we need to find people that do. I'll go into the city and see what I can find out."

Dean rose to his feet. "I'll come with you."

"It's okay," Sam said, not angrily but with a definite hint of coldness in his tone. ""I can handle it."

He put on his jacket, cinched his tie up and grabbed the keys before pulling open the door and walking outside. After a moment, Dean heard the Impala's engine coming to life and pulling away.

"What was that about?" Jo asked.

Dean sighed. "He doesn't want it to be drugs. The girl that died was a sweet thing, and she looked so awful in the morgue. I think he needs it to be something supernatural so he has something to kill. That's the world that makes the most sense to Sam—hunting. He's not so good when there's nothing he can do to fix it."

Jo nodded. "I get that. He was always like that before. I didn't think it would be like that now though. He seems so different since he got back. I thought he was changed."

"He is," Dean said. "More than I ever thought possible, but he still has all those years as a hunter to shape him." He thought of a college application and how different things were going to be soon. Would Sam be satisfied with a life that tested him in a different way? Could he still be happy?

* * *

The offices of Cohen and Cline were in a high-rise building in the middle of the city. Sam was a little nervous about pulling the fed act somewhere like this, but he didn't know another way to make people talk to him as he knew little to nothing about Ian Cleave and so couldn't pull the part of a grieving family member or friend. In hindsight, he should have gotten some more information from Jo about him before he left, but he'd been uncomfortable in that room with Dean's sympathy. He was sure Dean was the one who was wrong. He knew drugs; he had been addicted to the world's worst imaginable substance, and he didn't believe that girl was like him.

He introduced himself to the young woman at the reception desk and she asked him to take a seat while she announced his arrival. It was all very different to the way he usually did things. He figured he should probably try to get used to it. He would—hopefully—be a part of this different world soon.

"They're ready to see you now, Agent," the receptionist said. "The elevators are across the lobby and they will take you to the seventh floor where someone is waiting for you."

Sam murmured his thanks and made his way over to the elevator. As he rode the car upwards, he wondered at his lack of foresight in not bringing Dean with him to run this blag. He was the professional one. Sam was the killer in the family. His regret only increased as the doors opened on the seventh floor and a man in an expensive looking suit met him with a hand outstretched and a neutral expression. "Agent Page?"

"Yes," Sam said, shaking his hand.

"Callahan Cohen," he said. "How can I help you?"

"I'm investigating Ian Cleave's death and I wanted to know about his last few days."

"I thought he died from a heart attack."

"A cardiac arrest," Sam corrected. "And we're looking into the circumstances a little closer."

Cohen's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"I'm afraid that's classified," Sam said smoothly.

"Well, I'm not sure what I can tell you. He was a good worker, successful, had everything to live for, so if you're thinking suicide, don't."

"We're not," Sam assured him. "Just trying to get to the heart of the situation, is all. Did you notice any strange behavior in the weeks or days leading up to his death?"

He looked uncomfortable. "I'm not sure."

"I think you would know," Sam said.

"Well, there was the sleep thing," he said. "A few days before his death we were downtown, celebrating a colleague's promotion. I noticed Ian wasn't himself; he seemed distracted, a little jumpy. As the night wore on, we all drank more, but Ian didn't relax with it the way he usually did. I took him to the side and we had a talk."

Sam stayed silent for a moment, waiting to see if he would go on unprompted, but he didn't, so he said, "What did you talk about?"

"Sleep," he said, sounding embarrassed. "Ian was saying how it seemed a colossal waste to lose so many productive hours a day to sleep. How he wished he didn't have to. It seemed to really bother him."

"Did he mention nightmares?" Sam asked shrewdly.

"No, not at all," Cohen said. "That's not really the kind of thing we'd talk about."

Sam nodded. "And after that night, did he seem changed at all?"

"In a way. He became a little erratic. He seemed _really_ tired, like no sleep for days kind of tired. Next thing I hear, he's dead."

Sam had heard enough to know he was right—there was something supernatural at play. "One more thing," he said, knowing Dean was going to ask so he had to. "Was there any evidence of Mr. Cleave taking drugs?"

Cohen looked uncomfortable. "I don't know…"

"I think you do," Sam said.

"Well, I did see him taking a pill, but it was just one of those sleep suppressants— the ones you get at Walgreens—Stay Awake."

"Can you be sure that's what it was?" Sam asked.

"I saw the bottle," he said, "and the pill—little yellow thing. I'm pretty sure that's what it was."

"Thank you," Sam said. "I've heard all I need to hear."

He turned to leave but Cohen called after him. "Hey, do you think it was the pill that killed him?"

"No," Sam said. "I am sure drugs had nothing to do with his death."

Now he just had to convince Dean of that.

* * *

 _He was running through the maze that surrounded the cage, trying to outrace the footsteps behind him. He knew when he was caught—it was always when not if—he was going to suffer for this, but he had to run. It was the dance they did. Lucifer would pretend not to notice Sam slipping away, and he would allow him time to run and build up hope that this would be the time he would really escape. That he would get out of the cage._

 _The footsteps drew closer and Sam cried out, "No!"_

" _Yes," a voice called back to him, echoing. "Oh yes, Sam."_

* * *

"Sleep," Jo said.

Sam had just finished filling them in on his visit to Cleave's office the day before, pointing out the link between the two victims—they didn't want to sleep.

"Nightmares, I'm thinking," Sam said. "These people were afraid to sleep."

Dean was embarrassed. He should have trusted his brother's instincts instead of deciding it was drugs and being done with it. "Sammy, I'm sorry. I should have…"

Sam held a hand up. "It doesn't matter. It's not about who was right and who was wrong. It's about finding what killed them and stopping it."

"You got any idea what it is?" Jo asked.

"Only half a dozen," Sam said. "Baku, Mara, Satori, Oni, Hag… They all interfere with dreams and sleep. I don't know where to start." He raked a hand over his face. "If we just knew more about what they dreamed about…" He trailed off.

"What?" Dean asked.

"Haley kept a journal. I saw it in her room. She might have written something in there about what she was dreaming."

"I don't know, Sam," Jo said. "That's pretty shady, reading a dead girl's journal."

Sam looked sad. "I know it's not exactly stand-up guy behavior, but she is dead, Jo, and who knows who will be next."

She nodded slowly. "I know."

"Besides," Sam said with a forced smile. "It's not like I'm reading your pink sparkle journal."

"First of all, I was thirteen. Second, how do you even know about that?" she asked.

He rolled his eyes. "Because you writing in it at the table in the corner with your arm covering the page wasn't exactly the most covert thing in the world." He softened. "I never did read it."

Jo smiled. "Good. It would only have upset you, reading about my pain in the ass big brother."

"I'd have been heartbroken," Sam said solemnly and then they both laughed.

Dean felt a pang at this shared history they had that he wasn't there for. He'd missed out on Sam's teenage years because he'd been left behind.

"Okay then," he said. "We've got two laptops and a library on offer. Who's taking what?"

"I'll go to the library," Sam said.

Dean nodded. "Okay then. I'll get to work online."

Sam stood and grabbed his jacket. As he passed Jo, he ruffled her hair, making her duck and laugh.

When the door closed behind him, Jo said, "He's in a better mood."

"Yeah," Dean said. "I think it's the case. He has something to fight now." He frowned. "He didn't have a good night though. He was still out when I woke up and he was having a nightmare."

"Nightmare!" Jo said sharply.

Dean shook his head. "I'm sure it's nothing Jo. It's not the first time, and people have nightmares all the time. Sam's got plenty in his head to disturb his sleep. Don't worry, okay?"

"Okay," Jo said, seeming reassured. "Let's get to work then."

Dean pulled the laptop around to him and flipped it open. He pulled up a search engine and typed in the first monster Sam had mentioned: Baku.

* * *

 _The footsteps were coming closer now, faster, and Sam knew he was going to be caught. His heart raced, seeming to want to escape its fate of being removed almost as much as Sam wanted to avoid Lucifer. He couldn't go back on the rack. He couldn't feel those cold hands touching him, pulling him apart piece by piece, without losing his mind. He was terrified._

" _Sam," a voice called behind him, and it took everything Sam had not to beg to be spared. There was no begging though. It did no good. It just shredded his little remaining self-respect._

" _I'm here," Lucifer said, and Sam felt his cool breath on the back of his neck. Hands reached around him, gripping and chilling his chest, right over his heart, and Sam knew what was coming. Scared and desperate, he cried out, "No!"_

" _Yes," Lucifer replied gleefully. "Oh yes, Sam. I have the most wonderful treat in store for you today. Are you ready?"_

 _Fingers scrabbled at his chest, pushing through skin, flesh and bone to the prize beneath. A hand curled around his heart, and he could feel it beating frantically, desperately trying to serve Sam. It was no good, though; Lucifer was too strong, too determined._

 _His heart was plucked out and held up to Sam's eyes, and he felt himself falling boneless to the floor._

 _His last disconnected thought was that this was never how it happened. How could he be dying when he was already dead?_

* * *

Sam eyes flew open and he lurched to his feet. On the bed beside his, Dean slept, his brow creased and his mouth downturned.

Though Sam could feel chest rising and falling, the room was silent. He couldn't even hear his own heartbeat. Something was very wrong.

A throat was cleared and Sam's eyes shot to the corner where a woman stood. She had brown hair that settled on her shoulders. Though she looked Sam's age, there was such weight in her gaze that Sam thought she was many years older than her looks. She was perhaps even endless.

"Hello again, Sam," she said.

"Who are you?"

She sighed heavily and muttered, "Every time." She straightened her shoulders. "Okay. Let's simplify this. Turn around Sam. Look at yourself."

Sam frowned. "What?"

"Just look at the bed."

A sense of foreboding settling over him, Sam turned slowly and looked down at the bed. He was lying there on his back. There was more terribly wrong than the fact he was there and standing at the same time, and though Sam knew what was happening, his mind rebelled against him.

"My name is Tessa," the woman said behind him.

Sam didn't turn. He was fixated on his own face on the bed, his frozen, terrified face.

* * *

 **So… Come on. Are you really surprised it went this way? It is one of my stories after all.**

 **True fact: not since my early one-shots have I set out planning to kill Sam in a story. I didn't even want to kill him at the end of Brother's Keeper—there was just no other way to deal with Lucifer other than the direction I took in** _ **Picking Up The Pieces**_ **and I didn't want to repeat myself. What tends to happen is that I will be writing and an idea will come—how to make the scene/hunt/fight more personal and therefore interesting, and it inevitably means death. This one was just supposed to be about nightmares—Gredelina1 was so proud of me for not killing anyone in the story—and then this happened.**

 **Wait till you see what comes next.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	9. Chapter 9

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for working your beta magic, Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for helping me outline, and you all for reading and supporting the story.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Nine**_

" _My name is Tessa," the woman said behind him._

 _Sam didn't turn. He was fixated on his own face on the bed, his frozen, terrified face._

"What have you done to me?" Sam snarled.

"I have done nothing to you. I am actually here to help you. Again."

Sam's clawed hands reached for her throat. His fingers moved through her like she was made of smoke though. He tried again and again, wanting to choke the truth from her, but it was no good. He couldn't touch her.

"Not going to work, Sam," she said. "You're not really… here, right now."

"Then where am I?" Sam asked, but then he heard a sound behind him and he turned away from her and her answer.

Dean was waking up. He shifted under his blankets and his eyes cracked open. "Sam," he said seemingly automatically, and rolled to face the other bed. All drowsiness seemed to desert him as he threw himself out of the bed and over to Sam's. "Sammy!" His hands reached for Sam's face and he patted it. "Sam, wake up!" he commanded. He leaned over, pressing fingers to Sam's throat, and the little color he had drained from him. "Castiel!" he bellowed, even as he grabbed Sam's shoulders and dragged him off of the bed to the floor. He pulled Sam out to the ends of the bed and started pressing down on his sternum.

"Hey!" Fingers snapped in front of Sam face, and Tessa grabbed his arm and spun him. "I'm talking to you!"

Sam tried to turn back to Dean but she gripped his shoulders and held him in place. He could still hear Dean though, his litany of reassurances and pleas as he fought to save Sam. "C'mon, Sammy. You don't get to do this again. You don't get to leave me, dammit. Please, just take a breath. Just breathe, Sam. Castiel! I need you!"

"Okay, I can see this isn't going to work," Tessa said, and she snapped her fingers again. The motel room, Dean, Sam's body, disappeared. Sam was standing face to face with Tessa in what looked like thick mist. They were not alone. Voices spoke and people moved just out of sight.

"Take me back!" Sam demanded.

"So you can see your brother trying to save you? That's a little ghoulish, don't you think?"

"He needs me."

"Yes," she agreed. "But my job isn't to give Dean what he needs. I'm here to save you."

"Save me?" Sam said hopefully.

"Bad choice of words. I'm here to help you."

"Help me what?"

"Move on." She sighed heavily. "Look, Sam, this isn't the first time we've had this conversation, and I for one am tired of it, so how about we skip to the good part and you do as you're told for once and come with me."

"I don't know you," Sam said.

"Seriously? That's that part you're going to focus on? Okay, let's simplify things." She reached up a hand and pressed two fingers to his temple.

* * *

 _Five Years Previously…_

Sam stood behind Ellen's chair. His hand was hovering over her shoulder, though she couldn't sense it. He wished she could. Her tears hurt him. He ached to be able to wrap his arms around her, to tell her it was going to be okay, but he wasn't really there. He was disembodied, somewhere between life and death, body and spirit.

He stared down at his body, the sick wound running the length of his throat; he wished they'd covered it so his dad and Ellen didn't have to see it.

The doctor was talking to them, and Sam turned his attention to him instead of his own macabre from.

"You need to say your goodbyes," the doctor said. "If there is anyone else who needs to see him, you should call them now."

Elle's tears, which had tapered away, began again.

"Thank you for your help, Doctor," John said dully. "We'd like to be alone now."

"Of course. I will stay close in case you have any other questions. I am truly sorry."

He left the room, leaving Ellen and John alone with Sam.

John laid a hand on Ellen's shoulder and she jerked away from him, suddenly angry. "You!" she hissed. "This is because of you!"

John nodded. "I know."

"You've killed him!"

"Believe me, I know." John moved around the bed and reached out a hand that trembled. Exceptionally gently, he pushed Sam's hair back from his brow. His hand cupped Sam's pale cheek and he whispered, "Goodbye, son."

Sam had never seen his father so gentle. His concern had always been brokered by anger and fear before.

Ellen looked like she was torn between a scream and being sick as John made for the door. "Where are you going?" she asked.

"There's something I need to do," he said, his hand on the door handle.

"Dean," Ellen whispered and John turned back to face her. "We need to find Dean. He needs to say…"

"I'll get him," John said.

"You know where he is?"

John nodded slowly. "He's my son. I've always known."

Sam felt a sucker punch of shock at the words. John had followed Dean all this time, even after what he did to them? Did he forgive Dean's betrayal or was it a sense of duty? He was angry. He didn't want Dean's goodbye. He didn't want anyone's, but least of all _his_. He had left them to fight alone.

Sam stayed like that, watching Ellen for a long time until a soft voice spoke his name behind him and he turned.

There was a pretty woman there. She had dark hair and ancient eyes. Sam would have known she wasn't a human even if she hadn't been staring into his eyes rather than at him on the bed.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"My name is Tessa, and I am here to help you."

"Help me what?"

"Move on."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "You're a Reaper."

She smiled serenely but didn't speak.

Sam turned back to Ellen where she sat weeping, her hand laid over Sam's on the white sheet. "I don't need help, thank you."

"You do," she disagreed. "You have never needed help more. If you don't come with me—"

"I have a choice?" Sam asked, hope burgeoning inside him.

"There is always a choice, both in life and death. Sometimes it's a tough one, but it's always there."

Sam looked at her again. "In that case I choose life, thank you. I don't want to 'move on'."

Her expression set with sadness, she said, "Life is not an option for you anymore, Sam."

"Then what is my choice?"

"You can choose to stay."

"Okay," Sam said quickly. "I choose that."

"You don't understand the choice you are making."

"No, you don't understand. There is a badass demon out there that I need to take care of. It's shaped my whole life, and I am not giving up the fight before it's taken out. My dad needs me to help."

She shook her head sadly. "Sam, you will suffer if you make that choice."

Sam didn't care. It would be worth it to be with his father.

"He will never know you're there," she said. "You will watch your father as a phantom. You will not be able to help. You will not be able to do a thing."

"I'll still be there," Sam said. "I'll make him see. He's a hunter, the best there is; he'll know."

"Perhaps one day, yes. When you become insane and vengeful, he will know and he will be forced to take you out. That's what vengeful spirits are, Sam, people who don't move on. Do you really want to do that to him?"

"He'd never do that to me," Sam said defiantly.

"He would. He would send you to what he would believe was rest, but by then you would be too tormented to have peace. You don't want that, Sam. Believe me.

"I'm not leaving him," Sam said angrily. "He needs me. I won't go vengeful. I'm strong enough to stop that."

"You're not. No one is."

Sam crossed his arms over his chest. "You don't know me."

She sighed and an argument seemed to be on her lips, but then a swarm of smoke appeared in front of her. It poured into her mouth, making her eyes squeeze shut. When they opened again, they were yellow.

"You!" Sam gasped.

She, The Demon, reached out a hand and slammed it to his forehead. "It's your lucky day, kid."

Air slammed into Sam's lungs and his eyes snapped open. Ellen was bowed over him, and she looked stunned.

"Ellen?" he rasped.

She nodded and a tear slipped down her already wet face. "I'm here."

"Where's Dad?"

Ellen shook her head.

* * *

Tessa withdrew her fingers and said, "Do you want to see more?"

"No," Sam said quietly.

"That was just one time," she said. "We have had that same conversation more than once. You have clung to life, Sam, desperate to stay with your family—your father, your brother. You have willingly set yourself up to become a violent spirit for them, not seeing that it would be the very last thing they want for you."

Sam winced, feeling the shock rocking through him. "I can't go," he said. "Crowley…"

"I have taken so many soldiers from the battlefield, and they all say the same thing. They think the way can only be won with their help. They're wrong. There is always someone else to take the fight on. Your brother, the angels, your friends, they will win this war without you, Sam."

"But I was supposed to…" he trailed off.

"You were supposed to be free," she agreed. "You were going to have college and a new life. I know. I am sorry, Sam, but you can't have that anymore. It's too late."

Sam turned away and swiped a hand over his face, though no tears had flowed—could not flow now because he was dead.

"But Dean," he said. "I can't leave him alone."

"He will grieve you," she said. "He will hurt without you, but he will know you're at peace. He didn't have that comfort last time. Do this for your brother, Sam. Let go."

Sam closed his eyes and tried to fight down the feeling of absolute devastation that coursed through him. "I need to see him again," he said. Just once more. One more glimpse of Dean and he could go.

"Okay," Tessa said gently. "I can do that."

Suddenly, there was the sound of a slow-handclap. Sam's eyes snapped open and he saw a beautiful woman with dark skin and curly hair stepping out of the mist. For a moment, Sam thought it was Meg, announcing herself as she had in Miner's Delight. But then he saw the woman's eyes, timeless eyes, and he knew she was another Reaper.

"Billie!" Tessa spat. "How dare you!"

The second Reaper, Billie, laughed darkly. "Sorry, Tessa, but he's not coming with you. Orders from the boss say he's going somewhere new and exciting."

"You will not take him to Hell!" Tessa snarled, and Sam felt a thrill of fear. He couldn't go back there. He couldn't stand it. Better oblivion than that.

"Nope, not Hell." Billie said. "Crowley wants him in The Empty."

"I will not let you touch him!" Tessa said angrily.

A long sword Sam recognized as an angel blade dropped into Billie's hand. "I'm really not giving you a choice."

"Where did you get that?" Tessa asked.

"A lot of angels have been dying," Billie said. "It'd be wasteful not to take what they leave behind." She stalked forward toward Tessa who shot Sam a look of horror. Sam had no idea what The Empty was, he was scared out of his mind, but he was sure that Tessa had no way of defending herself. There was no need for two of them to die.

"Go," he said. "Run Tessa!"

She looked desperate as she disappeared. Sam turned to Billie, and summoning all the hatred he felt for the situation, he glared at her.

"Okay," she said. "That was a little easier than I thought it would be. Come on then, Sam Winchester. The Empty awaits."

As she reached for him, Sam thought that The Empty at least sounded better that Hell.

He was wrong.

* * *

Dean was sitting back on his haunches, his arms aching at his sides. He had done it all, everything he could think of to do, and it had failed. His brother was dead.

"Oh, Sammy," he moaned.

Sometime in the process of CPR, Sam's eyes had opened again. In the moment it happened, Dean had thought it had worked—Sam was saved—but relief had quickly been quashed by truth.

Those eyes were still open now, and though they were devoid of awareness, staring blankly at the ceiling, Dean felt that he was pinned under their gaze. He slowly leaned over Sam, brushing a hand over his face and closing them.

Sam's skin wasn't yet cold. Dean remembered the hated Wyoming cemetery, when he had been so sure Sam lived still because he was still warm, but he knew better now. There was no sense of Sam in the room even. He had gone completely. He had left Dean behind.

He lurched to his feet and ran into the bathroom in time to lose the contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl. He retched and heaved until his stomach ached, and yet he still felt full of poison. Standing, he walked to the sink and rinsed his mouth.

His reflection in the mirror showed a man devoid of life. His eyes were red and sore looking and his skin was white. That was how he looked without his brother. That was the face of a man without Sam. He would never get used to that reflection—even though he knew it was all he would see now.

There was a fluttering sound in the room and Dean turned and staggered in to see Castiel standing by the foot of the bed, his eyes fixed on Sam and his expression wrecked. "No," he breathed.

Dean was across the room in an instant, gripped Castiel's collar and shoving him back against the wall. A part of his mind processed the fact that by moving Castiel, he was being allowed to move him, but he hardly cared. He was so angry, so overwhelmed with grief and physical pain that nothing else mattered. Castiel wasn't a friend. He was the angel that had failed to come when he was needed.

"Dean," Castiel said consolingly.

"Where were you?" Dean demanded. "Why weren't you here?"

"I was where you and Sam instructed me to be, with Ellen," he said, his voice hoarse.

"You should have been here! We needed you!"

Castiel looked past Dean's shoulder to Sam and he nodded. "I know. What happened?"

"Some fugly!" Dean growled. "It took him when I was sleeping, and I did… everything I could. I tried, I swear, but he's gone." He shook Castiel weakly. "He's gone!"

Castiel grabbed the back of Dean's head and pulled him forward so he was resting against Castiel's shoulder. It stole what little control Dean had left and began to sob in earnest. Castiel didn't speak; he just let Dean cry against him. "Oh, God," Dean moaned. "He's gone."

"Not forever," Castiel said quietly, and Dean pulled back.

"What?"

"I am a true angel again, Dean. I can save him if that is what you want?" He framed it as a question.

"Yes," Dean breathed. "Do it! Get him back for me! Save him!"

"Are you sure?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"This isn't like Lucifer, Dean. Sam is not in Hell this time. He will be in Heaven. He will be at peace. Do you want to take him from that?"

"Yes," Dean said automatically.

Castiel just stared at him.

"It's not peace," Dean said. "Not alone." What he meant was that it wasn't peace without Dean there with him. "Unless you're sending me there to be with him, bring him back here. Now."

"I cannot do that to you, Dean," Castiel said, and what Dean was sure he meant was would not. Castiel nodded slowly. "Okay. I will do as you ask. However, I will not leave him lying on the floor."

"No," Dean said quickly. "That's right. He shouldn't wake up like that. We need to get his… him on the bed."

Castiel moved to crouch beside Sam and he eased his hands under him gently. As he straightened with Sam in his arms, Dean rushed forward to support Sam's head, hating to see it hanging over Castiel's elbow. He held it as Castiel turned and bowed, laying Sam onto the bed. Dean tucked a pillow under his head and pushed his hair back from his eyes.

"Soon, Sammy," he said, a reassurance and promise to himself. He took Sam's limp hand into his own and squeezed it.

Castiel sat on the side of the bed and, looking down sadly at Sam, he laid a hand on his chest and closed his eyes. Dean kept his gaze on Sam's face, wanting to see the moment Sam's eyes opened, the moment he came back to him.

He had seen Sam resurrected by an angel once before, and he expected it to happen the way it had last time—in a rush of breath and eyes flying open—but it didn't. Nothing changed.

"Cas?" he said, not taking his eyes from Sam.

"Something is wrong," Castiel said.

"What?" Dean gaze reluctantly left Sam and fixed on the angel. "What do you mean?"

Castiel hesitated. "There is something… blocking him from me. I can't reach his soul. It's like it is hidden."

"No," Dean whispered. "No! Bring him back!" His voice rose to a shout. "Bring him back now!"

"I can't!" Castiel growled. "Don't you understand? He's not there!"

Dean drew in a shaky breath. "I need him back, Cas."

"Do you think you're the only one?" Castiel asked angrily. He shook his head. "I need guidance." With a whipping of angry wings, he disappeared from the room, leaving Dean with his dead brother.

"Gabriel," he whispered. "I need you. I'm in the Lazy Days Motel, Columbus, Missouri. Please, I need you."

* * *

Gabriel was deep in the punishment of another cruel soul when he heard Dean Winchester's prayer. He considered letting it wait, as he was having fun, but something tugged at him, making him think this was no idle call for petty assistance. Perhaps the Winchesters had found something to do with Crowley.

He took flight and landed in the motel room. His first thought was that the oppressive sadness was going to choke his vessel, and then he realized the cause and the feeling disappeared to be replaced with seldom felt sympathy. Sam Winchester's body was laid out on a bed, and his brother was sitting beside him, smoothing the pad of his thumb over the palm of Sam's unfeeling hand.

"Dean," he said quietly.

Dean turned to look at him and Gabriel looked into the eyes of a broken man. "Help me," he said hoarsely.

Gabriel moved forward without thought, knowing what Dean needed and knowing that he had to deliver again. He had fought for Sam's death in the past, he had facilitated his sacrifice into the cage, but this time he needed Sam Winchester alive. He was needed for the war.

He bent over Sam and laid a hand on his chest. It was different to saving Sam last time, as that had involved a dive into the pit and battle to enter and exit the Cage. He had been saving a soul and body that time. Now it was just a case of retrieving the soul and siphoning it back into the body. It should have been easy. It was not. There was nothing there. He reached out, searching for the soul through the connection of the body, but he found only a torn thread where there should have been a chain. Sam was out of his reach.

He stepped back, looking down at the body with stunned eyes. "I can't," he said.

He expected shock from Dean, but all he received was disappointment. "Cas couldn't either."

"Where is he?" Gabriel asked.

"He went for guidance. I guess that means Heaven."

"And Heaven will be queuing up to help him." He sighed. "He should know better."

Dean frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

Gabriel had once told them Castiel wasn't the brightest angel in the garrison, feeling more than thinking. He would surely be feeling now, with the death of his friend, and he would go into this emotionally. Michael would relish his sadness and not lift a finger to help.

"Castiel will not succeed," Gabriel said simply.

"Then what do we do?"

Gabriel considered. There was one way to handle this, but it wasn't an idea he put forward eagerly. It would involve a sacrifice.

There was a knock on the door then, and a bright voice called out, "Breakfast delivery."

"Jo," Dean said in a whisper. "Oh, God, Jo. What am I supposed to do?"

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. What did he think he was going to suggest?

"I have to tell her," Dean said decisively.

"Whatever you think's best," Gabriel said.

Dean got slowly to his feet and made for the door, leaving Gabriel to look down at the corpse on the bed and wonder what _he_ was supposed to do next.

* * *

"Do you remember how many souls reach us during one earth day? Thousands, Castiel." Michael said.

Castiel looked at him imploringly. "It is Sam Winchester. Surely someone registered his arrival."

"Not anymore, Castiel. He is no longer the vessel of the adversary for the battle. He is just a human like any other."

"I cannot reach him, though," Castiel said. "Someone is concealing him from me."

"It is not Heaven's will. We have nothing to do with the abomination." He smiled slightly. "Have you considered the possibility that he has been taken to Hell? That is the place he deserves, after all, and the demon Crowley would like to have him among his ranks."

Castiel had not considered that option, and he felt a chill of fear at the thought. Then sense returned to him. "Heaven is the Winchesters' reward."

"An affront," Zachariah said bitterly from his place at Michael's side.

"I don't know where he is, Castiel," Michael said. "You are free to search Heaven, but if you believe you will be able to track him down among the billions of souls, you are far more stupid than I thought."

Castiel shook his head dolefully. "Can I take a garrison to help me?"

"You cannot. This is your task, Castiel. If you are determined to steal the soul from its peace, you will do it alone. We will have no part of it."

Castiel didn't say another word. He spread his wings at his back and returned to earth and the motel room that housed his friends and loss.

He knew even before he set himself down that Gabriel had arrived in his absence. He sensed the power of his grace. There was another human there, too. Jo Harvelle had joined Dean. As he settled and looked around, he saw Jo perched on the bed by Sam's head. Her hand was slowly stroking back his hair from his face, her eyes filled with tears that slipped down her cheeks every time she blinked. Dean was standing behind her, his hand on her shoulder and his own tears flowing.

"Did they help?" Dean asked hopefully.

Gabriel scoffed quietly.

"No," Castiel admitted. "They didn't register his arrival." He addressed Gabriel. "Have you tried?"

"Yes," Gabriel said. "The tether is broken." His mouth pressed into a thin line as if he was holding back words.

"What are you thinking, Gabriel?" Castiel asked.

"I have an idea," he said. "But I'm not sure…" He looked at Castiel and spoke cryptically. When Castiel understood his meaning, he understood the need to conceal the message. "There is one that _shares_ something with Sam. He might have a chance of finding him there."

Dean. Dean and Sam shared a heaven. Dean would perhaps be able to find Sam in Heaven. Dean would need to die.

"What?" Dean asked, and Jo looked up from Sam's face. "Who shares something with Sam?" He considered for a moment. "What do I share with him?"

Castiel nodded to Gabriel to go on, aware of the weight he was about to set upon his friend but knowing they all needed it to happen. They all needed Sam back, though Gabriel's reasons were very different.

"Heaven," Gabriel said. "You and Sam have a shared heaven. If anyone can find him there, it is you."

"Okay," Dean said quickly. "What do I have to do?"

Castiel grimaced, and the action seemed answer enough to Dean.

"I have to die," he stated.

Jo sucked in a breath.

"Yes," Gabriel said. "You need to die to enter Heaven and find Sam."

Dean reached for the pillow on the second bed and pulled out a handgun beneath it. Before he could even check the clip, Jo was crying out and Castiel was across the room, snatching the gun from his hand. "Not like that!" he said sharply.

"Also," Gabriel said slowly, "you need to know what to do when you do find him first."

Dean looked at him, wide-eyed and wired. "Get on with it then. Tell me."

"Dean, wait," Jo said stridently; she turned to Castiel. "What happens if whatever took Sam takes him, too, Cas? We could lose them both."

"Then we will find a new way to bring them both back," Gabriel said confidently.

"Like?" Jo asked.

Gabriel sighed heavily. "I'm an archangel. I will find a way."

Jo turned haunted eyes on Dean. "Sam wouldn't want this," she said plaintively.

"Sam doesn't have a say," Dean said firmly. "He's dead. I know you can't leave him like that any more than I can. This is the way it has to happen, Jo. I can feel it. I'll bring him home."

Lips downturned, expression almost guilty, Jo stood and wrapped her arms around Dean. Dean pressed a kiss to her hair. "It'll be okay," he whispered. "I'll find him." He slowly extricated himself from her embrace and turned his attention to Gabriel. "I'm ready. Do what you need to do."

Castiel felt guiltily grateful that he would not have to be the one to end his friend's life, even temporarily.

"When you find him, forge some kind of connection," Gabriel said. "Touch him, hug him, hold hands like little girls if that's what you need to do. Just connect with him. As soon as I sense him again, I will bring you both back."

Dean nodded. "Got it."

"You might want to lie down," Gabriel said.

Dean looked down at his brother one more time before he moved to the second bed and lay down. Gabriel stood over him and lowered a hand to his temple. "Close your eyes, Dean," he said. Dean obeyed and Castiel watched as Gabriel sent a pulse of grace into his friend. Dean drew a sharp breath, exhaled, and inhaled no more.

Gabriel moved to the other bed and laid a hand on Sam's chest. "I guess we just wait then."

* * *

Dean opened his eyes in the bright sunlight of a field. He scrambled to his feet and looked around. It was Falls Park, Sioux Falls. The river that ran through it rushed in the distance, and people were dotted around, sharing picnics and games of ball.

He was confused for a moment, and then he remembered why he was there, and he shouted his brother's name.

"Dean!" a voice replied. "You ready?"

He spun on his heel and saw Sam running towards him. It wasn't the Sam he had come for though. He looked around nine years old, his face still soft with childhood and his eyes bright with excitement. In his hand was a baseball clutched in a mitt.

"Sammy," he breathed.

"C'mon, Dean," Sam said. "Uncle Bobby said we've only got till three to play."

Dean looked into the distance and saw Bobby sitting on a bench with a book open on his lap. He raised a hand to Dean when he caught him looking.

Sam tossed Dean the ball and he caught it automatically. "This isn't right," Dean said.

He remembered this day, this game of catch. It was summer and they'd been left at Bobby's for a few weeks while their father took a hunt. Bobby had seemed to be in a good mood at the time, and he had interspersed their training and studies with time spent in the park playing. It was one of Dean's fondest memories.

"Throw it back!" Sam commanded.

Dean threw the ball to his brother and Sam fumbled for it. He knew it was wrong though. He needed to find Sam, the adult Sam, not this memory of him as a child.

He turned away and made for the park gates. He had a feeling that was what would lead him where he needed to go. Behind him Sam whooped and laughed as he caught a ball no one had thrown. Hating that he was leaving him behind, wishing he could stay a while and play with his brother, Dean started jogging toward the exit.

Stepping through the gates gave him a feeling of vertigo. He came out in an outdated kitchen. A voice spoke behind him. "Eat up, honey. I'm going to get your brother."

He looked up into his mother's face and his heart contracted painfully. "Mom."

"Eat your lunch," she said again.

In front of Dean was plate of sandwiches, peanut butter and jelly oozing out of the sides. This was another memory, though vaguer than before. It was in the very early days after Sam was born. She would soon carry baby Sam in and promise that if he ate his lunch he would be allowed to hold Sam for a while if he was very careful.

Dean wanted to linger, to see Sam as he had been before demon blood had tainted his life, but he knew that would waste precious time. He stood, the chair scraping against the linoleum, and made for the door.

He walked into a motel room with anachronistic yellow wallpaper and a brown carpet. In an armchair by the TV was Sam, around six years old. Standing in front of Dean was his father, his leather jacket on and a duffel in his hand which meant only one thing to the younger Dean—it was time for a hunt.

"There's cash in the canister," John said. "And Pastor Jim's number is by the phone. You can handle this, right?" He waited as if for some response, and then said. "That's my boy. Take care of Sammy." He ruffled Dean's hair. "Knew I could count on you. You're a good boy, Dean." He walked to the door and after casting the room one last glance he left.

Dean cast Sam a look of longing and then followed his father out of the room, ready to search the next memory for a sign of his brother as he needed him to be.

When he arrived in the next memory, he knew it immediately. It was the kitchen of The Roadhouse. He was with Ellen, Jo and Ash, and Jo was handing out children's party hats. It was Sam's first birthday since he had found him again. Any moment Sam would arrive.

The door opened but it wasn't Sam that entered. It was Zachariah.

"Well, look what we have here," he said. "It's the _other_ ineptWinchester. Let me guess, Castiel thought you'd actually be able to find your brother. That angel… Stupid doesn't even begin to cover it. "

"Where's Sam?" Dean asked.

Zachariah laughed. "You think I'd help you? Even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you."

"You do know though?" Dean asked.

"No. None of us do. We did look, since we were curious, but there's no sign of him."

"You're lying," Dean spat.

"I'm not. In fact, I am prepared to swear on my Father's name that I don't know. Wherever he ended up, it's not here."

Dean's heart sank. He believed the angel, little as he wanted to, which meant he wouldn't find Sam. What was he supposed to do now?

He wasn't aware he'd spoken the question until Zachariah answered it. "You keep looking, I guess. I look forward to watching you try and fail. We all do." His expression became pinched. "Or I guess you can hop the Castiel train back to life."

Dean turned and saw the rush of blue-white light coming for him. It enveloped him like an embrace and he felt his feet leaving the floor. Air rushed into his lungs and he looked around the room he had left what felt like a lifetime ago. Gabriel was standing opposite him and Castiel was stepping back from him; Jo was perched on the head of Sam's bed still. There was also another woman there. Her expression was dour and her eyes tense.

"Sam?" Dean asked automatically.

"Not yet," Castiel said. "But we know where he is now."

"Where?" Dean asked.

The two angels exchanged a dark look.

* * *

Castiel winced as Dean exhaled and his chest failed to rise again. Even though he knew Gabriel would bring Dean back, it was still difficult to see the man he now considered a friend in this condition. He kept vigil at the foot of the bed Dean lay on, his eyes occasionally drifting to Sam where Jo sat stroking his cheek. It had now been over two hours. Jo's phone had started ringing more than an hour ago, her mother calling, and they'd let it go unanswered, as had Castiel her prayers. She would want to know what was happening, why Castiel had left his post as her guard, and Jo said her mother was better in angry ignorance than devastating knowledge. She would learn what had happened eventually, but hopefully Sam and Dean would be back by then.

"It's been a long time," Jo said.

"It will take Dean time," Castiel said gently.

She nodded and cleared her throat. "They'll be okay." She wasn't speaking to him so Castiel didn't answer.

Suddenly, Gabriel stiffened. A split second later Castiel felt it, too. Power was approaching. His blade slipped into his hand and Gabriel's did the same. The both braced themselves for a fight.

A reaper appeared with her hands raised. "Don't attack!" she said quickly.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Castiel demanded.

"I'm Tessa," she said. "I'm not here to fight. I came with information."

"What information?" Gabriel asked.

Instead of answering, she looked at Dean and frowned. "What happened to him?"

"He is searching Heaven for his brother," Castiel said.

Her expression morphed into regret. "He won't find him."

"What? Why?" Jo asked.

"Sam Winchester is not in Heaven. He is in The Empty."

Castiel staggered back a step. "How?"

Tessa pushed her hair back from her face. "Crowley. I was sent to collect Sam and another reaper arrived. Billie. She is one of Crowley's. She said he had ordered Sam to be dropped into The Empty. I had to flee, and when I searched for Sam again, he was gone."

"He is not reachable by us either," Gabriel said.

"He wouldn't be," Tessa said.

"Awesome," Gabriel said. "We have two dead Winchesters and no chance of them finding each other."

"We need to bring Dean back," Castiel said solemnly.

"Ya think?" Gabriel said sarcastically.

Castiel moved to Dean's bed and laid a hand on his chest. It was easy to find the tether connecting Dean to his body. He wound it around his hand and sent his grace forward to reach him. The soul burned bright in Castiel's clasp, and he pulled it gently back into the body. Dean's eyes flew open and roved the room as Castiel moved back to give him space.

"Sam?" he asked.

"Not yet," Castiel said. "But we know where he is now."

"Where?" Dean asked.

Castiel and Gabriel exchanged a look, each wondering if the other would be the one to answer. Castiel realized it was better coming from him than the archangel, as Gabriel wouldn't be gentle—not that there really was a way to be gentle with information like this.

"He is in a place called The Empty."

"That sounds bad," Dean said.

Castiel wished he didn't have to say it, not to his friends, but he was the right person to do it. "The Empty is the place between worlds," he said. "It is nothingness. There is no up, no down. No hot, no cold. No air even. It is just existence without stimulus."

Jo covered her face as she choked a sob.

"And Sam's there?" Dean breathed.

Castiel nodded. "I'm sorry."

"Okay," he said in a tone of forced calm. "How do we get him back?"

Gabriel spoke in a gentler voice than Castiel had ever heard him use before. "I don't think we can, Dean. Not even I can enter the void and return a soul. It would take God or something with the power of Him to do it."

Dean blanched. Castiel thought he knew what he was thinking—God hadn't roused himself for the apocalypse. He wasn't likely to do it for Sam now.

"No!" Jo shouted, lurching away from Sam's bed and stalking toward Gabriel. "You're an archangel; you're The Trickster, dammit. You have to do something!"

"If I could, I would," Gabriel said. "I don't want him there either. But I don't know…" He turned to Tessa. "The power of God."

Tessa shook her head. "Oh no. No way. I don't like that he's there. He doesn't deserve that after everything he's given. But I am not doing that."

"Doing what?" Dean asked.

"Death," Castiel said, realization dawning. "Of course. He has the power."

"Death?" Dean asked. "The horseman?"

"Yes," Castiel said. "He will be able to save Sam."

"You don't understand," Tessa said. "He's the boss. You don't summon him. He summons you."

"Do it!" Dean commanded. "Get him here."

"I can't!"

Castiel raised his drawn blade and stalked toward Tessa, anger filling him. That she was prepared to leave Sam there to avoid a reprimand was beyond cruel. Sam was in The Empty! There was no fate worse than that, except perhaps the one Sam had already suffered.

"Get him here!" he growled.

"You don't know what you're asking," she said.

"We don't care!" Dean shouted. "This is Sam!"

The room erupted in noise, Dean and Jo begging her to help, Castiel threatening, and Gabriel trying to make them all be quiet so he could think. Then a measured voice said, "That will do," and silence fell.

Castiel lowered his blade as he looked into the skeletal face of Death. He felt immediate fear tempered with hope. He was there. Castiel may pay terribly for threatening the reaper, but Death was there.

"Now," Death said, pulling a chair around from the table and taking a seat, "I understand you need my help."

* * *

 **So… Sam's in The Empty. Dean went to Heaven. Death is back. And Ellen is calling and getting no answer—can't see** _ **that**_ **ending well, even if everything else does, can you?**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	10. Chapter 10

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for giving your time to beta the chapter, and SandraEngstrom2 and Gredelina1 for helping me outline and giving feedback. I love you ladies xxx**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Ten**_

" _Now," Death said, pulling a chair around from the table and taking a seat, "I understand you need my help."_

They all started speaking at once again. Death held up a hand and they fell silent.

"You," Death said, pointing at Dean. "Speak."

Dean was more than a little intimidated by being in the same room as Death, let along being addressed by him, but he pushed it all aside for the sake of his brother. "Sam's dead."

"I noticed," Death said, casting the bed a glance. The minutest downturn of his lips was the only sign of reaction in him.

"And he is in The Empty," Dean went on.

Death nodded slowly. "I see. And I assume you would like to me retrieve him for you."

"Can you?" Jo asked.

Death cast her a withering look. "I am Death. The places of departure and existence are mine to roam at will, even though I…" He shook his head slowly. "I will find Sam and bring him back for you, and then you will do something for me."

"Anything," Dean said.

Gabriel tutted and rolled his eyes. "Awesome, another Winchester deal. The last one worked out so well."

"It brought Sam back didn't it?" Dean said angrily. He would take the consequences of his deal because it put Sam back in the world.

"Yes," Gabriel said tiredly. "The Winchesters were served. The rest of the world however..."

Death turned to glare at him. "There is a difference. I am not some common, grubby demon. I don't make deals that destroy worlds."

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. Dean had to admire his guts, facing off with Death.

"I can reap your Father, angel," Death said. "What do you think I can do to you if you irk me?"

"Stop!" Jo said harshly. "Just stop, okay. Sam's dead! Can't we just get him back before we start… We need our brother back."

And Dean realized that Sam was, indeed, _their_ brother. Jo's by life experiences, Dean's by blood, Castiel's by a forged connection of fighting shoulder to shoulder. They were bound by love and they _all_ needed him back.

Death eyed Jo for a moment, and Dean shifted a little closer, to comfort or perhaps defend if needed. But Death just turned away and smiled slightly. "Such an interesting group," he said. He rose to his feet and drew a deep breath. "I will fetch your brother, young Jo. Perhaps you can prepare for his return. I think perhaps a few less people at first."

Jo nodded and addressed Gabriel and Tessa. "Out you go. Sam's not going to want an audience for this. Give us some space."

Gabriel narrowed his eyes. "We'll be close."

"Sure," Jo said easily. "Hang outside if you want."

Tessa and Gabriel walked to the door and Castiel moved to follow them. "Not you, Cas," Dean said quickly. "You stay." Castiel hesitated and Dean added, "You're family."

* * *

There was nothing: no air on his face, no sound in his ears, no floor beneath his feet and nothing to see. He was just there. There was no way to gauge time; he could have been there an hour or a lifetime.

He had thought he would prefer oblivion to the Cage again, but he was wrong. This was worse in a strange way. This was The Empty.

Suddenly, there was touch. Something wrapped around his wrist and yanked. He tried to fight, scared of this new torment, but the grip was too strong.

Then his ears thrummed with sound—a voice calling his name and someone speaking in a warning tone, "Give him a minute, Jo."

He opened his eyes and was amazed that there was sight again. He was looking into Jo's strained face, her hand stretched in the air between them as if she had been reaching for him. To the other side was Dean, pale and nervous-looking. At the end of the bed stood Castiel, his gaze soft and pleased as it looked down at him.

He took stock of it all and memory rushed at him. The hunt, Reapers, Dean's battle to save him, the Empty. He had died.

"I'm okay," he said, his voice surprisingly steady given what he was feeling.

Jo moved a little closer, still tentative, and Sam reached for her extended hand and squeezed it. "It's okay, Jo."

She fell forward onto him and he enveloped her in his arms, soothing her with a hand on her back and soft words. Behind her, Dean smiled and nodded, satisfied. When Jo pulled back, Sam swung his legs around to the edge of the bed he sat up. Dean held out a hand to help him to his feet and Sam took it, knowing Dean needed to help even if Sam was steady. Dean pulled him into a hug and Sam held him tightly before releasing him and gripping his shoulders. "How?" he asked worriedly.

He was sure Dean would know what he was asking. Who had saved him and what had it cost them this time?

"Death," Dean said.

"You made a deal with Death?"

"Not exactly," Dean said.

"Oh, I'd say it's exactly that!" Gabriel was standing on the threshold and scowling. "Good to have you back, Winchester. You're just in time to see your brother screw the world again."

"Don't be so dramatic," Death's measured voice said from the other side of the room. "Dean did no such thing. I told you I am not a common demon. I do not make deals that destroy worlds. I quite like this world after all."

Sam's mind was reeling, and he held onto Dean's shoulders a little more tightly for support before pushing down his panic and getting his feet under him again.

"Shall we sit?" Death asked. "There is much to discuss." He sauntered over to the table and took a seat. Sam took the other chair and sat opposite him. Dean and Jo perched on the bed, Dean's arm around Jo's shoulders, while Castiel and Gabriel stood, Castiel stiff and Gabriel leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest.

"What was the deal?" Sam asked.

"That I would retrieve you from The Empty and in return you would all do something for me."

Sam sighed. That was about as open a deal as you could get. His only comfort was that Death didn't seem interested in screwing the world; their own personal world was another matter though.

"What do we need to do?" Sam asked.

"I want my ring back," Death said simply.

"Oh…" Dean's little regained color drained from his face and Sam felt a sick twist of fear. Where was the ring? He'd assumed they were lost in the creation of the portal, but the way Death said it and Dean's reaction made Sam think that was wrong.

"The rings still exist then? They weren't part of the portal?" he asked hopefully.

"They still exist," Death said dryly. "They were the _keys_ to the cage. When a key is turned, it stays in the lock until removed again."

Dean opened his mouth a couple times and closed it again before saying, "We don't have them."

"That is not news," Death said slowly. "Why don't you have them, Dean?"

Castiel cleared his throat. "It is my fault. Dean was in no state to think of the rings when Sam was gone, and we were forced to flee almost straight away to avoid Michael, and I just…"

"Didn't think," Death finished for him. "That much is obvious. Do you know who did think? Who took advantage of Dean's incapacitation and your lack of foresight?"

"Crowley," Dean growled.

"Indeed. The demon took the rings."

"That is how he is strengthening himself," Castiel said with dawning realization.

"Oh, not only that," Death said. "He has more cruxes in place now."

"The grace," Sam said.

"Yes, and the souls." Seeing their blank looks Death sighed, turning to Sam. "Billie and her ilk have turned away from their duty and are siphoning souls into the pit rather than Heaven. Their crossroads demons are working harder than ever, too. Crowley is playing the long game. When he can call upon the power of those souls, the grace _and my_ ring, he will be able to take the fight to the archangels." He looked at Gabriel. "All of them."

Gabriel stared back, betraying no emotion at all.

"Uh, one question, if you can reap God, pop in and out of The Empty, cause death and destruction pretty much when you like, why can't you just…" Jo's voice quieted, "…get your ring back yourself?"

"Because Crowley is wearing it," Death said. "He has essentially claimed that power for himself. He cannot tap into its full power, as he is still essentially a demon despite his moniker of King, but he can access much of it. For me to fight him would be like one of you trying to fight yourself."

Sam closed his eyes for a moment and tried to untangle his thoughts. This seemed insurmountable. How were they supposed to take on Crowley when even Death couldn't?

"That is not all," Death said, and Sam's eyes opened to fall on him, defeat making his shoulders slump. "There are three other rings in play. The other horsemen's I believe, though I have not seen them to confirm. His elite demons have claimed them. War, Pestilence, and Famine never had the power I did, but they were still strong in their own right. By handing the rings over to his demons, he has created three new powerful weapons."

"What the hell are we supposed to do now?" Dean asked.

Death smiled grimly. "That is what you need to discover. You are more powerful than you realize. Sam has unique abilities against demons. You, Dean and Jo, ground him and aid in ways I don't think you understand. Outside of that, you're formidable hunters in your own rights. There are two angels here, one of them an archangel, and they're both fortified with immense untapped potential. I have every faith that, between the five of you, a solution will be found." He rose to his feet, a clear end to their conversation.

"Wait!" Sam said. "That's it? You're leaving this to _us_ to figure it out?" He had never felt so out of his depth in his life.

"Hardly," Death said. "I will be working, too. You should continue as you were, saving where you can, and when I have something to offer, I will be in touch." He paused for a moment and then said. "I know you are searching for signs of Crowley, but it would not bode well for you to engage him yet. Wait. Be patient." He straightened and then looked at Castiel. "Threaten my reaper again, I will squash you like a bug, angel."

That said, he disappeared without even a whisper of sound.

* * *

"Wow," Gabriel said, looking around the room. "I thought I was good at dramatic exits."

"Amateur," Jo said with a shaky laugh.

"Exit aside," Dean said, "he's badass and he's got no idea how to do this. How the hell are we supposed to come up with something?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. It's not like he's sitting back and leaving us to it, though. I think we have to do what he says—get on with it and hope we come up with something between us in the meantime."

"One thing's for sure; we're _not_ going after Crowley yet," Dean stated.

"Agreed," Sam said, looking at Gabriel.

Gabriel frowned. "Fine. Sure. If the mighty Death says not to, I guess we better listen."

Dean smirked. He thought it had been quite the lesson for Gabriel not to be the most powerful being in the room for a change.

"In the meantime, what do we do?" Jo asked.

"We finish this hunt," Sam said. "I'm kinda pissed about the whole being dead thing, not to mention The Empty. I want some revenge."

Dean grimaced. He was sure Sam was talking about it so calmly in defense, not wanting to admit how scared he had been by what happened to him, but it was still hard to handle. Sam had been _dead_ because of the creature. He'd been murdered. Dean wanted a little revenge, too."

"What was it you were hunting?" Gabriel asked.

"Not sure. I thought maybe Baku, but they don't scare to death as much as drain your life-force."

"You were _scared_ to death?" Gabriel asked.

Sam looked a little embarrassed as he nodded. "Yeah. I was having nightmares, and I guess one was too much."

"What were you dreaming about?"

Sam swallowed noisily. "Hell. The Cage. Lucifer."

Gabriel nodded slowly. "Then it's a Hag."

"What makes you so sure?" Dean asked.

"The fact that he remembers what he dreamed." He sighed. "I didn't _want_ to have to tell you this, because merely talking about it risks its failure, but Sam cannot _feel_ his Hell."

"I'm sorry, what?" Sam said.

"When I brought you back, I figured I'd do you a solid," Gabriel said. "I gave you the makeover, scar removal and all, but I also blocked the Hell. Why do you think you've been so different since you got back? I blocked the experience of Hell. You don't dwell on it; you don't remember dreaming about it. In short, you're not the traumatized wreck from it you should be after over a century in the Cage."

"A century!" Jo gasped. "What? How?"

"I'll explain later," Sam said quickly. "So you blocked hell?"

"Of course I did. What did you think? That you just had that much mental fortitude to deal with it alone?"

"Thank you," Dean said fervently and Sam nodded. "Yes, thank you, Gabriel."

"Not a problem," Gabriel said then he glanced toward the door. "Okay, time for me to make my exit. Good luck with that…"

He disappeared with a fluttering sound at the same moment there was hard knock on the door. Frowning, Dean got up to open it. Ellen and Bobby stood on the threshold.

Ellen looked from face to face and spoke in a growl. "What the _hell_ has been happening here?"

* * *

Sam took the lead, making it clear with a look alone that the others weren't to tell Ellen or Bobby the ghoulish details of what had happened. He just said he'd been targeted by a Hag and they'd had a little outside help. He tried to say as little about that as he could and focused instead on Death's visit—making it sound like a coincidence—and what he had told them. While she worked through her shock about that, Sam asked Bobby about Hags to change the subject.

"Nasty bitches," Bobby said. "Literally scare you to death with nightmares and feed on the energy of the stress." He eyed Sam shrewdly. "It came after you?"

"Yeah," Sam said easily. "Lucky Dean woke up and scared her off."

Bobby's eyes narrowed. "Yeah. Lucky."

Sam realized Bobby knew more had happened than him simply being targeted, but the older hunter seemed to realize that it wasn't the time to push the subject—not with Ellen there. Sam didn't like lying to her, but he'd made a promise not to leave her again, and he didn't want her to know he'd broken it already. She didn't need those nightmares.

"So how do we take it out?" Sam asked. "I've never tangled with one before."

"You can't kill it," Bobby said. "The most you can do it trap it. Hags are eternal. They've been a part of the natural order since practically the beginning."

Sam was disappointed. He _really_ wanted to kill the thing that had caused the people he loved so much pain and that had forced him to break his promise. He would have to settle for trapping it though.

"How do we trap it?" Dean asked, and his tone made Sam sure he had been hoping for a little payback himself.

"We need to catch it in the act of feeding and do a spell, basically," Bobby said. "It will siphon the Hag into a crystal. We do that, stuff it in a curse box, and it'll be screwed for all time. I've got the spell in my journal. We just need a crystal and curse box."

"I can retrieve what you need," Castiel said.

Bobby nodded his agreement. "Upstairs in my place—Linen closet. You'll find a curse box under the towels."

Castiel disappeared.

"You up for another rough night?" Bobby asked Sam. "If it's targeted you once, it'll come back. I can lurk out of the way and do the spell without it even realizing I'm here."

"Absolutely," Sam said, holding up a hand to Dean's quick protest and Jo's gasp. "I can handle it," he said both in answer to Bobby and to reassure Dean and Jo.

Ellen's eyes narrowed but she didn't speak. If she forced him to talk, he'd tell her that it had been touch and go, but he'd made it out, which wasn't a lie in the strictest sense. He'd brief Dean and Jo on the story, too. And he'd just tell Castiel to keep quiet no matter what she asked—it was the easiest way.

"You guys must need something to eat," Sam said. "Did you drive all the way through?"

"Yeah," Bobby said. "We were worried."

"We'll go get us all some dinner," he said. "Dean? Jo?"

They quickly got to their feet and Sam grabbed his wallet from the table. "We'll be right back."

Ellen's eyes followed them as they left, making Sam feel like he was being x-rayed. When they got out of the door and halfway across the parking lot, Jo burst into speech. "Sam! You can't seriously be thinking of letting the Hag come after you again!"

"It'll have to know something went wrong, what with me refusing the Reaper, and so it'll come back to see what happened if nothing else…" He caught sight of their horrified faces. "What?"

"You refused your Reaper?" Dean asked, his voice strained.

"Yeah," Sam said simply. "What did you think—that I was just going to run off and leave you all? You should know me better than that."

"But what does that mean?" Jo asked. "If you refuse your Reaper, what happens to your soul?"

"You become a spirit," Sam said, setting off away from the motel again. "Come on. We need to get some food."

"Sam!" Dean growled, hurrying after him. "What were you thinking?"

Sam stopped and raked a hand over his face. "I was thinking it wasn't time. There is too much for me to do still to be able to skip off with a Reaper."

It wasn't just that, of course. The truth was it was never going to be time for Sam to leave them. Not after everything. If being a spirit was his only option, he'd take it. If that was what kept him with the people he loved, that was what he would do.

* * *

Ellen was troubled. Something was going on. Sam, Dean, Jo, Castiel even, were hiding something from her. Cowardly though, she didn't want to delve too deeply into what it could be. She was afraid of what she would find out.

Instead, she threw herself into helping Bobby prepare the spell to trap the creature that had targeted Sam. She shredded herbs and placed candles on the table of the adjoining room to theirs. In the other room, Sam and Dean were being sent to sleep by Castiel. The plan was that he would stay in their room, invisible until the moment the Hag arrived, and then he would come to them and tell them to start the spell. According to Bobby, it was simple enough. He just had to light the ingredients and say the Latin at the right time and the Hag would be trapped. She was still uneasy though—as she always was when one of her own was at risk.

Jo was sitting cross-legged on the bed, her expression tense and her eyes tired. Whatever had happened, she had been through a lot in the last twenty-four hours, Ellen could tell. When she got her home, Ellen would cook for her, take care of her, heap love on her the way only a mother could.

Castiel appeared in the room them and said, "I have put them both to sleep. Prepare," before disappearing again.

"We're ready," Bobby said.

Ellen picked up the matches and held herself ready to act. "Ready," she agreed.

She'd thought perhaps they would have to wait hours for the Hag to come, and she was prepared to do that, to stand poised for action at a moment's notice, but Sam must have provided a feast for it, because it arrived soon after Castiel left them.

His voice called to them before Ellen even saw him, shouting, "Now!"

Ellen lit the match and dropped it over the bowl while Bobby raised his voice in a clear command, _"_ _Audite me_ _!_ _Liga eam et hoc animal est impotens_ _!"_

Energy pulsed though the room, and the pink crystal in the bowl of ingredients glowed bright for a moment, and then faded to what looked like a husk of charcoal.

Ellen dropped the box of matches and raced out of their room to the adjoining. The door was closed and she hammered on it. It was answered by Castiel, and she brushed past him toward the bed.

Dean was awake, leaning over Sam and patting his cheeks hard. "Sam! Sammy!" Even as Ellen watched, her heart racing in her chest but her legs immobile, Sam's eyes opened and looked around the room. "It's okay," he said hoarsely. "I'm fine. We're all fine."

Dean fell back to sit on the edge of his own bed and laughed shakily.

In that moment, as Jo raced into the room and breathed Sam's name, Ellen understood what exactly it was she had missed before. Their reactions could only mean one thing.

She had almost lost her boy.

Again.

* * *

 **So… Death is on Team Free Will: Extended Edition. Think they have a chance now?**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	11. Chapter 11

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy, Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for all your help getting this chapter written and ready to be read. I love you ladies.**

 **HAPPY NEW YEAR PEOPLE!**

 **2016 sucked in a lot of ways for a lot of us but with you all and your support for The Brotherhood series it was good a lot of the time for me. Thank you all xxx**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Eleven**_

Sam was out running when Dean got out of the shower, and Ellen and Jo were in the bar. He could hear the clinking sounds as they stacked clean glasses on the shelves and filled the fridges. He smiled to himself at the good, homey sounds. They were a comfort after his rough night. Ever since they'd gotten back from Columbus, Dean had been having nightmares. He wandered endless heavens, memories of his life, searching for something, but the longer he searched the harder it became to remember what he was looking for until, at the point of waking, he could no longer remember what he had lost, only that his life would be forever changed because of it. The shock of that woke him every time.

But Sam was back. They were together. It was all going to be okay. At least that was how he reassured himself when the fear tried to creep back in.

When he was dressed, he went into the kitchen to retrieve a coffee and then wandered outside to see if the mail was there as he did most mornings. The flag was up on the mailbox, and Dean opened the door and pulled out the sheaf of envelopes. He never got mail at The Roadhouse—though it was his official address now—so he didn't check the addressees. He just patted the bundle against his leg and went back inside and through the bar to put them down on the counter.

Jo looked up and smiled at him then her eyes fell on the envelopes and she grabbed at them. "Awesome! Mail."

Ellen straightened from where she was crouching by the fridges and scowled at her daughter. "Have you signed up for _another_ free sample?"

"Yep," Jo said cheerily, sorting through the mail. "It's a new…" She trailed off, frowning.

"What's up?" Dean asked.

Jo held up a stiff cream envelope in answer. Dean saw the logo above the return address and his stomach lurched. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen.

Ellen didn't seem to recognize it, as she brushed her hands on a cloth and reached for the envelope. Jo handed it over and Ellen read the return address, sucking in a sharp breath as her eyes widened. She flipped the envelope and saw the addressee and she gaped at Dean who was wishing more than anything that he hadn't brought the mail into the bar. This wasn't supposed to happen yet. Sam would be pissed.

"Stanford?" Ellen whispered.

"Uh… yeah." Dean bit his bottom lip.

"Stanford?" she said again. "My boy, college!"

"Maybe," Dean said. "Look, we didn't tell you because we didn't want this happening until we knew it was for sure. You can't go over the top until it's sorted."

"Sam's going to Stanford?" Jo asked, apparently not listening to a word he'd said. "As in college?"

"Maybe," Dean said again. "Can we just take a breath and calm down? If you're freaking out when he gets here, he's going to freak, too, or shut down, and we all know how that ends. Let's just be calm, okay?"

For all the good it did, Dean could have stayed silent. Jo was grinning fit to bust and Ellen was wiping at her eyes. Then, as if things couldn't go any more wrong, Sam came through the door to the back, a bottle of water in his hand and the pumped look he always had after a run these days on his face. It quickly faded as he took in the room. Dean standing with his hands raised placatingly, Jo clutching the envelope, and Ellen wiping at her wet eyes.

"What's happened?" he asked tensely.

"Secret's out," Dean said as Ellen held out the envelope to him mutely.

Sam took it and his face paled slightly as he flipped it over and saw the return address.

"Open it!" Ellen commanded.

Sam was either obeying automatically or he was just as eager as them all to see what was inside. He tore at the flap and pulled out a single sheet of paper. His eyes scanned the words and his expression became closed off.

Sure it was bad news, Dean stepped forward, a hand raised to comfort Sam, but Sam held out the paper to him and he took it. Reading, his smile gradually appeared again and became wide and excited. "Sammy…"

"What?" Ellen asked. "What do they say?"

"I've got an interview," Sam said quietly. "I've…" He cleared his throat. "They want to talk to me about studying there. Right?" He looked at Dean as if he didn't believe what he had just read.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. They want to meet you."

"My God," Ellen said, her hand over her mouth.

Sam looked at her and his mouth turned down. "Don't be mad," he said quietly. "It's not forever and I won't give it all up. I'll keep fighting, I just… I need to do this. Do you understand?"

"Mad?" Ellen shook her head and wiped at her wet face. "I'm not mad, sweetie. I'm happy. So happy. This is what I've wanted for you since… forever. This is incredible."

Sam smiled tentatively. "Yeah?"

She rushed forward and, against his protests that he was sweaty, flung her arms around him. She gripped him with all her not insubstantial strength and Sam slowly began to relax into it. When she pulled back, his smile was more certain.

"You're doing this, Sam," she said forcefully.

"Slow down," Sam said. "They may not want me."

"Of course they will," Jo protested. "And anyway, so what if they don't? Stanford might be too stupid to have you, but there are other colleges. You're a genius, Sam. They'll want you even if Stanford doesn't." She breathed out shakily. "This is going to happen."

"We'll make it happen," Ellen said forcefully. "We will all make it work." She smiled. "My boy is going to college."

Dean watched a tentative hope fill his brother's eyes as he looked down at the letter in his hand. It wasn't a place at Stanford, not yet, but it was a big step toward it. Sam was back, he was happy, and he was going to college. It was going to be okay.

* * *

Dean sighed as he pulled the phone out of his pocket. He knew even before he checked the caller ID who it would be as she had called four times already in the hour he'd been sitting outside the café.

"Hello, Ellen."

" _Is he out yet?"_ she asked without greeting.

Dean rolled his eyes. Sam had promised that he would call as soon as he got out of his interview, but she didn't seem to trust him to keep his word.

"Not yet."

" _What's taking so long?"_

"These things take a while," Dean said. "They've got a lot to go through. After all, it is Stanford."

" _They'd be mad not to take him."_

"Agreed. But let's not pile on the pressure, okay? He's probably stressed out enough as it is. He doesn't need our expectations making it harder for him."

" _I know,"_ she sighed. _"It's just, I want this for him so much. He deserves it after everything he's given for the world. It's time something went his way."_

Sam had given too much. He had given his life, his freedom, his heaven. He'd lost family to the fight, the most important people in his world. If anyone deserved to get what he wanted, it was him. Dean's only fear was that he wouldn't let himself have it. He worried that when faced with the choice of a hunt or college, Sam would choose the hunt—the lives he could save instead of the books he could study.

As if Dean's thoughts had summoned him, Sam appeared at the end of the street the café Dean had chosen to wait in was located on. He caught sight of Dean and weaved his way around the people on the sidewalk towards him. As Sam took the seat Dean had pushed out for him, he mouthed, "Ellen?"

Dean nodded and held out the phone. Sam took it, and brought it to his ear. "Hey, Ellen," he said.

While he listened to Sam deflecting Ellen's questions with gentle ease, Dean tried to read Sam's expression. He looked more strained than happy, but Dean thought he could read something in his eyes that he hoped meant something good.

"I'll tell you all about it when I get back," Sam promised Ellen. "Right now, I need a drink. We'll be home soon." He smiled. "I know. See you real soon." He ended the call and handed the phone back to Dean.

"So…" Dean said slowly. "You want to talk about it?"

Sam shook his head. "I want a drink." He looked scornfully at Dean's coffee. "A proper one."

"There's a place just up the street," Dean said.

They stood and Dean dropped a bill down onto the table to cover the tip. They walked along the street in silence, Dean leading them to the bar he'd spotted earlier. He pushed the door open and gestured Sam inside. Sam took a deep breath as he entered, and Dean thought he was absorbing the familiar scent of beer and the indefinable smell of a cheap bar—the scents of The Roadhouse. It was a cheap place, and the clientele seemed to be college students and older men. Sam seemed comfortable as he stepped up to the bar and leaned against it. It made Dean smile

A bartender came to them, an older man with an impressive beard, and asked, "What can I get you, fellas?"

"Beer and a whiskey, please, whatever you have on tap." He glanced at Dean. "Beer?"

Dean nodded. They had a motel booked in town so they were free to both have a drink.

"Two beers," Sam amended.

Sam's eyes roved the room as they waited for their drinks. Not a hunter's gaze, assessing danger, more an appraising look.

Their drinks arrived and Sam led them to a table at the back of the room. The jukebox was playing some pop hit that grated on Dean's nerves and there was a TV on the wall silently playing a news channel. Dean watched it for a moment, reading the subtitles describing the story of a recent death in the area. He was waiting for Sam to speak, not wanting to pressure him, though his curiosity was killing him.

Sam slugged back his whiskey and followed it with a swig of beer then paused a moment before saying, "There's a scholarship I can maybe get if they accept me."

Biting back a wide smile, Dean kept his voice casual as he said, "Yeah?"

Sam nodded. "It's for what they call 'non-traditional' students." He shook his head with a smile. "They have no idea just how 'non-traditional' I am. Anyway, the scholarship would cover tuition and course materials."

"What do we have to do?" Dean asked.

"I already did it. Filled out a provisional application. _If_ I get a place, they'll make a decision."

Dean chanced a question, hoping to lead Sam into talking about what he really needed to know—how it had gone. "What was the interviewer like?"

"He was okay," Sam said vaguely. "Teaches English variations. He seemed decent enough. We talked about a lot of things that had nothing to do with college, though. I can't tell if that's good or bad."

"What kind of things?"

"Family. Lifestyles. He was curious about how I spent my time since high school. I told him basically the truth—omitting the supernatural. I said Dad needed me. I told him I helped dad work small jobs around the country and then, when he died, I took some time to deal with some family stuff." He took another swig of his beer. "I think… I think it went okay."

A smile crept across Dean's face. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I don't want to jinx it or anything. He said he had to write a report of our meeting which would go before a panel, and then they'd decide whether or not to take me."

Dean leaned over and clapped him on the shoulder. "That's awesome, Sammy. Well done."

Sam smiled sheepishly. "Thanks, man. Let's not tell Ellen and Jo yet though. I don't want them celebrating just to be disappointed when it all craps out."

Dean understood Sam's worry. He wished he would have a little more confidence in himself though. The only time Sam seemed to accept his accomplishments and have faith was when it came down to hunting. He knew he was a good hunter, but he didn't have the same self-belief in other aspects of his life.

"It might not crap out, you know," he said.

Sam looked thoughtful. "I know. It's just…" He drew a deep breath. "I want this, Dean, like I haven't wanted anything in the longest time. I haven't had many choices in my life since high school. It feels like everything was decided for me, you know what I mean?"

Dean nodded. He could understand that for Sam.

"But here I have a chance to do something for me. I looked around that campus on my way to the interview, and I saw all those students working their asses off but loving it, and I felt more out of place than I ever have, but I didn't want to. I wanted to belong, you know? I want to study. I want to better myself. I want to be…"

"Normal?" Dean ventured.

Sam shook his head. "I want to be free. But…" He lowered his voice. "Does that make me a bad person? Am I failing by cutting down on the hunts?"

Dean gripped his wrist hard. "No! You're taking what you've earned. You're not the only hunter out there, Sam. There are more, and they can save lives while you live yours for a change. You can still help; you can advise and inform the others if you want—be like Bobby. Sure, we need to deal with Crowley, but for the first time in forever, we have real backup: Death is on our side. The angels are all working to the same goal. We're going to win this and then you'll be free, Sam. Do you trust me?"

"I always do," Sam said seriously.

"Then trust me on this. You're not failing. You're living. If anyone deserves that, it's you."

"You do, too," Sam said.

Dean grinned. "Then we'll do it together. Deal?"

Sam reached across the table and they shook hands. "Deal."

* * *

Dean watched Sam talking with the bartender as he waited for their drinks order, and he marveled at how much Sam had changed. Now that he knew about Gabriel blocking Sam's memories of Hell, he understood a little more. Sam wanted to be free. He was already partway there; he just had to take the last step, actually step away from the life and become a civilian for a while, and it'd all have been worth it.

Dean hadn't regretted the deal that saved Sam, not even when he'd been on the rack under Alastair's knife, because it had saved the most important person in his life, but now that he saw Sam preparing the live the life he'd wanted since he was a kid, he felt more satisfaction in his choice than ever. He had made it possible.

Sam turned away from the bar and came back to their table carrying two bottles of beer and two shot glasses. He set them down and slid into his seat. "What are you grinning about?" he asked.

"Nothing," Dean said, quickly reaching for his shot and knocking it back.

Sam eyed him for a moment, smiling slightly, and then he drank a swig of his beer. "So," he said, "tell me more about college life."

Dean had been sharing memories of his own time in college, explaining how it had felt to go from being a hunter to being a student and how he had managed his own studies with difficulties like his second, rowdier roommate. He started to speak about his final year, but cut off as the bar door flew open and a young man rushed in. He was wild eyed and clearly agitated about something. The bar quieted with his dramatic arrival and his voice carried over the jukebox as he yelled, "Professor Rothschild has jumped!" He paused dramatically. "Off the roof!"

A ripple of shocked gasps swept through the room like a breeze and then people started talking, some excited, others sounding upset, as they got to their feet and rushed out of the bar.

Sam's expression was dour as he knocked back his shot and got to his feet. "Come on," he said quietly.

Dean stood and followed him out of the bar, following the crowd of rowdy students. They walked along the street toward campus at a sedate pace compared to the people who were running with ghoulish glee.

He saw the blue lights from the squad cars flashing over the walls of the buildings. The sight of them seemed to draw Sam on, and he started to jog. He reached the crowd first, and Dean saw his face twist into a grimace.

Cops were trying to keep the people back, but they jostled and pushed forward. Dean peered through the crowd and saw the body on the ground. The man was facedown, his limbs at awkward angles and a pool of blood beneath him.

Sam was stiff at his side and Dean glanced at him. He wasn't expecting his brother to look so strained. As tragic as it was, Sam had seen more than his fair share of death in his life, but he didn't usually look that rattled in the face of it.

Dean looked around the crowd, glancing up at the building. It was six stories–high enough to kill. Then something caught his eye and he patted Sam's chest. "Hey. There's someone up there."

Sam's head snapped up and he set off moving away from the crowd. He jogged around the building to the back. There was a flight of steps that served the fire escape doors on each level. Sam unlatched the gate at the very bottom and started up the steps. Dean followed on his heels, murmuring under his breath, "I haven't got a gun, Sam,"

Sam stopped just below the roof level and reached into his boot for a knife and handed it back to Dean.

"What are you using?" Dean asked.

"God given brawn," Sam replied in a whisper.

Dean tugged his arm and stepped around him. If he was the only one armed, he was the one taking point. He crept up the last few steps and onto the roof. There was a man standing right in front of him. He looked younger than Sam, and confident, as if meeting people on rooftops that people had just jumped—or been pushed—off was normal.

Dean gripped the knife tightly in his hand as Sam pushed past him and faced off with the man.

"Who are you?" Sam asked, his hands fisted at his sides.

"Jack Austen," the man said mildly, looking from Dean to Sam, his eyes narrowed. "You?"

"Sam Winchester. This is Dean."

Jack smiled slightly and raised his hands. "The Winchesters, huh. Good to see you."

"Do I know you?" Sam asked,

Jack shook up his sleeve and revealed a tattoo on his wrist. "No, but I've heard all about you."

Dean looked down at the tattoo, the copy of the one he had on his collarbone. "You're a hunter?"

He nodded. "I am. And you boys are interrupting my hunt."

* * *

 **So… College is becoming more of a reality but they've maybe stumbled upon a hunt. Poor guys can't catch a break.**

 **I'm curious—how do you feel about Sam and Dean hanging up their hats for school and work? I usually have a strong opinion on it, but for this story, it felt like something that should be explored.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	12. Chapter 12

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing and SandraEngstrom2 and Gredelina1 for all your help.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Twelve**_

"You're hunting?" Dean asked, his mind a little slowed by the alcohol.

"I am," Jack said. "You guys mind getting out of my way? I'm guessing even these hapless cops will think to check the roof eventually, and I'd rather not be here when it happens."

Sam stepped back, seemingly automatically, and Jack passed them and started quickly down the stairs. Sam and Dean exchanged a glance and then followed him. A few steps from the bottom, Jack jumped, and Dean expected him to carry on away, but he stepped back and let Sam and Dean get to the grass before he walked away. They had moved just in time, as voices were approaching. Just as they slipped around the side of the building, two cops arrived around the corner and started up toward the roof.

"Good timing," Sam acknowledged.

"Thanks," Jack said. He started to walk away and then turned back to them. "Don't you want to talk?"

Without a word, Sam and Dean nodded in unison and walked down the street a step behind him. Dean didn't know about Sam, but he was curious about this hunter since Sam didn't seem to know him; he thought Sam knew all the community.

They came to the bar they'd just vacated and Jack made straight for the corner table. Dean followed him while Sam went to get drinks. When he was sitting down and they each had a beer, Sam said, "So, how come I've never heard of you?"

Jack smiled slightly. "I'm pretty new. I've only been in the life properly about a year. Before that I was in college."

That made sense. Sam hadn't been back that long, and Dean had missed a year in the life while staying with Sonny. There was probably all kinds of stuff they'd missed outside of the Crowley problem.

"What made you join up?" Sam asked.

"Long and sordid family tale," Jack said. "You guys?"

Sam's expression darkened for a moment. "Same."

"You guys are based out of The Roadhouse, right?" Jack asked.

"Yeah, that's home," Sam said.

"I haven't made the trip yet," he said. "Is it true that hunters work out in the open there?"

Dean grinned. "If you mean field stripping guns while eating pretzels, yeah, they're out in the open."

Jack's eyes widened. "Man, that's kinda crazy."

Sam shrugged. "Ellen keeps them all in line."

"I heard about her. Real tough cookie, right?"

Dean smiled fondly. "She's definitely that. You should come meet her sometime."

"I may just do that. Need to wrap this case up first, though."

Sam leaned forward slightly. "What makes you think this is a case and not just a guy taking the swan dive?"

"Couple things," Jack said. "One, he's not the first. Two, I'm pretty sure when they flip him, they'll find he wasn't killed by the fall. I'll bet you guys a bottle apiece that they'll find a damn hole in his chest where his heart was ripped out."

"Werewolf?" Dean asked, doubting it as soon as he said it. What kind of werewolf tagged someone on a roof?

Sam shook his head. "The moons aren't right."

"And werewolves don't emit EMF," Jack said. "The roof was buzzing with it."

"Power lines?" Sam asked.

"Not enough to explain the amount I was picking up," he said. "I'm pretty certain it's a spirit." He leaned back in his chair and took a draw on his beer. "I'm going to do the rounds of research tomorrow and see what I can dig up."

"Need help?" Sam asked.

"Nah. I've got it covered. I figure hunters like you have enough to be working already."

Dean frowned. "What makes you say that?"

"People talk," Jack said. "Rumor is you boys took down a big bad and then went into hiding for a year."

Sam smiled slightly. "That's close to what happened, I guess." He drained his beer and set the bottle down. "We'll leave you to work then."

"Thanks fellas. You take care out there. From your reputations, I'm doubting you'll need it, but if you even want help, here's my number." He scrawled on a napkin and handed it to Dean who took it and tucked it in his shirt pocket.

They stood and shook hands with Jack and then made for the door. When they got outside into the fresh air, Sam looked back and frowned.

"What?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. "I'm not sure. Something feels weird."

"Something like letting someone else take the hunt?" Dean asked shrewdly.

Sam smiled. "Maybe. Guess I better get used to it though."

"Yeah," Dean grinned. "You better."

* * *

When Sam got back to their room with coffee and breakfast the next morning, Dean was fresh from the shower.

"How's your head?" Sam asked.

"Fine," Dean said, taking a coffee from Sam and lifting the lid to inhale the aroma. "Well, almost fine."

Sam laughed slightly. "Well, get that down you. I told Ellen we'd be back soon as we could, and we've got a good couple days drive ahead of us." He eyed Dean's tired eyes. "I'll take first shift."

"You're a good brother," Dean said gratefully.

"The best." Sam grinned and picked up the newspaper he'd brought with their breakfast. He sat down and skimmed over the front page. His heart sank as he saw the photograph accompanying the story of the professor's death.

"What's up?" Dean asked.

Sam considered a moment before answering, habit wanting him to keep it to himself while sense told him to share. "The man that was killed last night – he was the professor that interviewed me yesterday."

"Oh."

"He was a good guy," Sam said. Selfishly, there was another reason for his disappointment. The professor was his key to Stanford. If the interview had gone as well as he'd thought, he would have had a good chance at getting in. With the professor dead and no way to present Sam's application to the panel, it was the end of his Stanford hopes.

"Sammy…" Dean started.

Sam shook his head. "I'm going for a run." He knew Dean hated it when he shut down, and he had tried so hard lately to be open with his brother, but he was stressed and disappointed and he wanted a little space and exertion to spend his feelings before accepting Dean's comfort.

He didn't bother to change into his sneakers. His boots would work just as well. He yanked open the door and walked out onto the motel parking lot.

He started at a jog which sped to a run almost immediately. As his feet pounded the pavement, he rolled over what had happened in his head. He told himself it wasn't the end. There were other colleges he could apply to, other places he'd have a better chance of getting a place at, but Stanford had been his dream. He had wanted to complete the circle of his life, to make the years he'd spent in the hunt a part of his life not the definition of it, by the fact he was going to the college he'd been accepted to all those years ago.

He came to the more crowded area of town, where students were milling around and heading to classes. He was jealous of them, and he hated it. He didn't want to feel that way. He wanted to be happy. He wanted to be one of them.

He reached the residential area and slowed slightly as he had to move among throngs of people. He was little more than walking again when he heard the scream. People all around him stopped dead where they were and then started toward the sound. Sam pushed through them, bumping into people and moving on without apologizing, trying to nail down where the scream had come from. It became clear after a moment when the scream came again.

He entered the building and hurried along the hall. Other people were following, muttering excitedly to each other, and he marveled at the ghoulish nature of humans.

The screaming stopped, but loud sobbing could be heard and it led him to a room halfway along the hall. The sight inside made his stomach clench. There was a girl spread-eagled on the floor, her face drained of color and her eyes wide and staring blankly up at the ceiling. There was a gaping hole in her chest, torn skin, broken ribs and blood. There was another girl kneeling beside her, her sobs ripping through the room.

"Clear the way," an authoritative voice was saying behind him. "Campus security coming through." Sam stepped to the side and grimaced as the campus cop came to a dead stop in front of him and vomited on the floor.

Sam moved back into the crowd and exited through the front door. There was nothing he could do to help, and he didn't have an EMF reader with him to use even if he could have done so covertly. He was as useless as any of the students around him, even though he knew exactly what had done the killing. He had seen it before.

Jack was right. There was a ghost on campus.

* * *

Dean spent the time Sam was gone mulling over the problem in his mind, and when Sam burst into the room, he spoke before taking in Sam's wild eyes and tension. "I've been thinking. We need to…" He stopped. "What happened?"

"Another death. Some poor girl on campus had her heart ripped out!"

Dean cursed.

"Have you got Jack's number still?" Sam asked.

"Yeah." Dean picked up the shirt he'd worn the day before from where it was folded on a chair and took the napkin from the pocket. Sam took it and pulled his cell from his pocket. He dialed quickly and after a few moments said, "Jack? Sam Winchester. We've got a problem." He listened for a moment and then said, "I'm going to put you on speaker." He set the phone down on the table and sat down.

" _I'm guessing you heard about the latest victim,"_ Jack said.

"Yeah. I saw it for myself," Sam said.

" _I wasn't able to get close enough to take a look because Rent-a-Cop was hanging around. How did she look?"_

"Like her heart got ripped out. I couldn't check for EMF, but it sure looks like a ghost kill. We've seen something like this before."

" _Well thanks for the head's up. I'll make sure to let you know what happens."_

Sam's brows contracted low over his eyes. "We're in, Jack. We're on the case, too."

Dean raised an eyebrow. They were?

" _You don't need to do that,"_ Jack said, and there was something in his tone that made Dean frown. It sounded more like he was saying, _"I don't want you to do that."_

"We do," Sam said firmly. "Look, I'm not judging you as a hunter, but like you said, you're pretty new to the life and we've got a reputation. We can help you take care of this. Three of us working together will take it down faster—before more people are killed."

There was a long silence on the other end of the line and then Jack said, _"I guess you're right. Okay. You want to meet up to go over what I already have?"_

"That'd be good," Sam said. "We're in the Shoreline motel."

" _I know it. There's a diner across the street. I'll meet you there."_

"Thanks, Jack," Sam said. "We'll be there soon."

They exchanged goodbyes and Sam tucked the phone back in his pocket. He took his wallet from the table and then finally looked up at Dean, taking in his expression. He didn't need an explanation of why Dean looked unamused. They knew each other too well for that.

"I need to do this," he said.

"Why?" Dean asked. "Sam, this isn't going to be the last time a hunt comes along that you shouldn't take. You're going to be in college soon, and you won't be able to drop classes and run every time something comes up. There's already a hunter on the case here. Why do we have to get involved?"

It wasn't that he didn't want to help; it was that he was scared for Sam's future. College was a huge opportunity for him. If Dean couldn't make him understand, he was going to lose that because of his need to help.

"She was so young, Dean," he said. "She was in college, her whole life ahead of her. Then some ghost, some dick, came and tore her heart out, killing her and ruining the lives of her family. It's not like I'm searching up cases. I just want to help."

Dean sighed. Of course he wanted to help. That was what Sam did—helped. He saved people. It must have been tough to see the girl's body. If he was in Sam's position, he would want to help Jack, too. He was worried for Sam's future decisions though.

"All right," he said. "I'm with you."

Sam smiled slightly. "Thanks, Dean." He tucked his wallet in his pocket and made for the door. Dean followed him out.

* * *

They reached the diner before Jack and ordered coffees. The waitress who served them lingered a little longer at their table than was really necessary as she was only sloshing coffee into their mugs. She seemed to have taken a liking to Dean though. She tried to engage him in conversation about what they were doing in the area, and she offered him a tour after her shift ended, but Dean refused gently, explaining they weren't in town long and they were meeting friends to explore. She seemed disappointed but she still smiled as she sashayed away, blonde ponytail swinging.

Jack arrived just a few minutes later and looked around for them. Sam raised a hand and he made his way over to their booth, sliding in beside Dean.

The waitress came back to their table and greeted Jack effusively. Sam wondered if she was just a natural flirt, but then she called him by name and Sam realized they were friends. They chatted for a moment while she poured him a coffee and then she left.

"Thanks for coming," Sam said.

"No problem," Jack said. "Like you said on the phone, I'm new and you've got reputations. You'll probably crack this one in a few hours."

"That's not what I meant," Sam said, embarrassed. "I just meant that we'd work faster with three of us."

"I get it," Jack said.

Feeling uncomfortable, Sam returned to the topic at hand. "You said yesterday that the professor wasn't the first. Who was?"

"It was a store-keeper on the other side of town. He was working late doing inventory when he was killed. His wife found him."

"The other side of town?" Dean asked.

Jack nodded. "Yeah, you see the problem, too. The professor and store keeper are a few miles apart—too far for a tethered ghost. There was EMF though, even the morning after store keeper's death, a lot of it. There was definitely a ghost."

"So it's a tethered to a thing as opposed to a place," Dean said.

"That's what I'm thinking, but you see the second problem. We have no way of knowing what the thing is and how it's changing hands."

"Not necessarily," Sam said, turning to Dean. "Remember the Witnesses?"

"Witnesses?" Jack asked.

"Oh yeah," Dean said slowly.

"There was a case a few years ago," Sam explained. "These ghosts were forced to rise by a spell. They were agonized, rabid and murderous, and they weren't tethered."

"You think the same thing is happening again?" Jack asked.

Sam considered. It was possible, but he couldn't see where the motivation came from. Who would want crazy ghosts on the loose? Lilith had done it to break a seal. That was over though, thank God. What could anyone hope to gain?

"I don't know," he said thoughtfully. "I don't see the motivation behind it. It could be a spirit that has enough juice to dump its tether, I guess. I've heard it can happen but I've never seen it. It would have to have a massive amount of power to break free though."

"Great," Jack said. "A super-powered spirit."

"We've taken out worse," Dean said, a hint of pride in his voice.

"I'll bet," Jack said. "Okay. You guys are the ones with the experience. What do you think we should do?"

"Research," Dean said automatically. "Look for anyone in the area with a particularly violent end who could be our ghost."

"And see if anything links our victims," Sam added.

"I'll take that," Jack said. "I'm not good at research."

"Okay," Sam said, draining his coffee and getting to his feet. "We'll get on with that. If you come up with anything, call us."

"Will do," Jack said.

Dean and Sam walked out of the diner. As they passed the window, they saw the pretty waitress slide into Sam's seat and start talking with Jack.

* * *

They were halfway across town when Dean's phone rang. He checked the caller ID and smiled as he answered. "Hey, Bobby. How're you doing?"

" _I'm good,"_ Bobby said. _"Called to ask you fellas the same actually. How did the interview go?"_

"Oh," Dean said dumbly. "How did you know?"

" _Ellen called, bursting with pride, to fill me in. So, how did it go?"_

Dean glanced at Sam. "Okay, I think."

" _What's going on?"_ Bobby asked.

"The interviewer was killed by a ghost," Dean said.

Sam frowned at the road.

" _You boys on the case?"_

"Yeah. We're just heading to the library now to do some research. See if we can come up with someone who might fit the profile."

" _You need any help?"_

"Actually, we already have some," Dean said. "A hunter called Jack Austen was already working it when we got here."

" _Jack Austen,"_ Bobby said thoughtfully. _"I know that name."_

"He's young," Dean said. "He's not been in the life long."

" _Hmm. I don't think I've met him. Must just be the name I've heard. He any good?"_

"Not sure yet. We're just starting out."

" _We need all the young blood we can get,"_ Bobby said. _"The apocalypse was hard on hunter numbers. Well, if you boys need anything, you give me a call, okay?"_

"Of course," Dean said. "See ya."

" _Bye, Dean."_

Dean tucked the phone away and turned to answer Sam's questioning glance. "Sounds like Ellen's been sharing the news."

Sam grimaced. "Awesome."

"He's happy for you, excited."

"Yeah, that's great and all, but the more people who know…"

"What?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head. "Nothing."

He pulled them into a parking spot outside the library and climbed out of the car. Dean sighed and then climbed out, too. They walked up the steps of the imposing building and through the entrance.

* * *

It was late afternoon when they finally stacked their notes and left the library. They had a few suspects for the haunting, but nothing definite.

"I think it's the Bentley man," Sam said. "He's the oldest and his was the most violent death." He had been stabbed to death in the early 1900's with so many wounds the news article—long before the advent of political correctness and censoring—gleefully described him as a pincushion. He had a century of anger in him that would translate as some serious power now.

"Maybe," Dean said. "We should salt and burn him anyway."

"Agreed. We'll wait till dark and then go desecrate a grave."

Dean smiled. "The way you say that so easily makes me realize just how weird our lives are."

Sam nodded. Their lives were weird, but hopefully not forever. Strange as it seemed, the day spent in the library, surrounded by college students, had reignited his excitement for studying. It might not be Stanford, but it would be somewhere. He was going to make it work. Somehow.

"Hungry?" he asked.

Dean nodded.

"We'll drop the car back at the motel and the go across the street for some food."

"Let's get take out instead," Dean said quickly.

Sam laughed. "Didn't you like the friendly waitress?"

"Not so much. She seemed nice and all, but I'm not really in the mood."

"Okay," Sam said. "Chinese food or pizza?"

Dean considered and they both answered at the same time. "Pizza."

They got back to the motel and Sam pulled up outside their room and got out. He grabbed his notes from the back seat while Dean let them into the room. He paused, straightening as Dean went inside. Something felt wrong.

"Dean!" he said quickly, but Dean didn't seem to hear him. He was overtaken by a coughing fit. Sam rushed after him as Dean staggered forward into their room. Sam felt it the moment he crossed the threshold. Sickness and pain crippling his stomach. He bowed over, gripping his gut.

"Sam!" Dean groaned as his legs gave way and he dropped to his knees.

Sam stumbled toward him but collapsed a few feet away. Something rose in his throat and he vomited crimson. Dean was retching in front of him, his own stain of blood on the floor

"What's happening?" he rasped.

"I don't…" Sam couldn't finish his sentence as sickness swept over him again. He fell forward so his cheek was pressed against the carpet, and blood oozed from his throat.

"Dean…"

Dean didn't answer. His eyes were closed and his breaths were rasping. Sam tried crawling towards him, and managed to get his hand on Dean's back before blackness descended.

* * *

"Austen," Bobby murmured. "Austen." The name had been teasing him since the call with Dean. He knew it, but he couldn't put his finger on how. It bothered him. He hated forgetting things.

He set down the book he'd been reading from and picked up his phone. He dialed the number from memory and waited as it rang.

" _Singer,"_ Rufus said. _"To what do I owe the crisis?"_

"No crisis," Bobby said. "Just need a memory jog. You heard of a kid called Austen? Jack, I think the name was."

" _You getting dementia?"_ Rufus asked. _"Of course I know the name. The Massachusetts Austens, Bobby."_

Bobby cursed. "The witches!"

" _Yeah. We took them on about… must be fifteen years ago now. The kid was called Jack, remember?"_

"Oh God," Bobby whispered. "The mother was the one that got away."

" _And the kid. I searched for that bitch for ten years,"_ Rufus said. _"Never found a sign of her. Figured some other hunter took her out or she went to ground. There was no sign. What's wrong, Bobby? Why you asking about them?"_

"Crisis after all," Bobby said. "The boys are on a case with a hunter called Jack Austen."

" _Damn,"_ Rufus said. _"Well, you best get on the phone then, hadn't you. Call me if you need backup."_

"I will," Bobby said quickly and then hung up only to redial Dean's number. It rang out. It wasn't like Dean to ignore a call. He dialed Sam and waited impatiently for him to answer. He didn't. He got through to Sam's voicemail. Bobby didn't bother to leave a message. He just grabbed for his gun and shouted into the empty room. "Castiel! I'm at my place and I need a ride. I think the boys are in trouble."

Castiel arrived with a whoosh of air and asked without preamble, "Where are they?"

"Palo Alto, California," Bobby said. "I'm not sure whereabouts."

"We'll find them," Castiel said.

A moment later, Bobby felt the sensation of displacement as he was swept away with the angel. It took less than a second for them to set down in a generic motel and for Bobby's heart to skip a few beats.

The room was thick with the scent of blood. Sam and Dean lay a foot apart on the floor. Sam's arm was stretched out and his hand rested on Dean's back. In front of them both were pools of blood soaked into the carpet, and their lips and chins were stained red.

"Oh God," Bobby breathed.

Castiel thrust him aside and bent beside Dean. He lay a hand on his chest and blue white light glowed on his palm. Nothing happened though. Dean remained still and white faced.

"Fix them!" Bobby shouted.

Castiel straightened and his eyes roved the room. He strode over to the second bed and yanked up the mattress. Under it was a brown cloth hex bag. He closed his fingers over it and the light flared again. When he opened his hand the bag was gone.

"Dean," Sam groaned as his eyes rolled beneath their lids.

"He will be okay," Castiel said as he bent beside Dean and his hand glowed over Dean's chest. Dean's eyes snapped open and he struggled to push himself upright. "Sammy!"

Castiel was already there. With the same glow and touch, he roused Sam whose eyes roved the room, falling on his brother. They were both pale still, and shell-shocked, but miraculously okay.

Castiel helped Sam to his feet and Bobby helped Dean.

"What happened?" Dean asked.

"A hex bag," Castiel said.

Dean frowned. "But the ghost…"

"I'm pretty sure is actually a witch," Bobby said. He went into the bathroom and damped two washcloths for them. They took them gratefully and cleaned their faces of the blood. "How do you feel?" he asked.

"Fine," Sam said at the same time Dean answered, "Kinda shaky."

The difference in the honesty of the answers and the difference in the personalities of the people answering was stark.

"You lost blood," Castiel said. "I cannot replenish that for you—only your bodies can only do that, and it will take a little time."

"Thanks, Cas, Bobby," Sam said. "How did you know to come?"

"Jack," Bobby replied. "He's your witch."

* * *

Sam and Dean were sitting at the table, sipping orange juice in an attempt to replenish some of what they'd lost.

Dean was feeling shaky still, and he thought only some of it was what had physically happened to him. Part of it was definitely down to the shock. He'd almost died. _Sam_ had almost died. Jack wasn't playing around.

"About fifteen years ago, Rufus and I took on a coven in Massachusetts," Bobby said. "There was a ground of eight, all from the same family. We got them all but a woman and her five year old son. They escaped while we were taking on the rest. In hindsight I think the rest of the coven let their deaths be a distraction so she could escape, not that they went easy. Honestly, over the years the family went to the back of my mind, but Rufus, obsessive as he is, never forgot them. He spent years on the lookout for her."

"How do you know it's the same Jack?" Dean asked.

"He say anything about demons?" Bobby asked in return.

Sam shook his head. "He had an anti-possession tattoo though."

"Figures," Bobby said. "Like a lot of witches, these got their power from demons, and that made them more wary of them than most. Their house was warded to the nines."

Dean groaned. "What do we do about him?"

Bobby and Sam exchanged a glance and Dean answered himself. "We kill him. Damn."

"We've got no choice," Sam said. "He's killed three that we know of so far. He tried to kill us! He's not going to stop." He pushed back his hair from his sweaty face. "We need to draw him out somehow."

"How though?" Dean asked.

Sam considered for a long time, his brow furrowed and his face thoughtful "I think we keep going with the case," he said eventually. "Don't tell him we've been back to the motel yet. Make it sound like we think we're still chasing a ghost. We've got that Bentley guy as a suspect. We can find where he's planted and have Jack meet us there. We've got the colt. That'll work."

Dean nodded slowly. He didn't want to end a life, but this would save others. Jack was a murderer and regular human justice wouldn't work.

"We better get out of here then," he said. "We can't be in here if Jack comes calling."

"There's a diner across the street," Bobby said. "We get you boys some food to bulk up on your sugar and you can put a call in to him. We've got another hour before it's dark enough for you boys to go digging up graves anyway."

"We still need to find where he's planted," Sam said.

"I'll take care of that," Bobby said. "You boys just take care of each other."

"Thanks," Sam said, glancing at Dean. "You okay?"

"Fine," Dean lied.

* * *

Bobby went to the library and Castiel took himself off to watch from a distance while Sam and Dean went to the diner. They ordered soup and rolls and Sam then made the call to Jack.

" _Winchester?"_ he answered, a definite touch of shock in his voice.

"Hey," Sam said, forcing himself to sound casual. "We've got what we think is a name for our spirit. It's a local man from the turn of the last century. We're just looking for a location for the salt and burn. You want in?"

" _Absolutely,"_ Jack said, sounding enthused. _"Where are you now?"_

"We just got some food. We spent the day in the library so we need to recharge. How about I text you the location when we've got it and meet you there?"

" _Sounds good. I'll see you later."_

"Yeah," Sam said, ending the call and putting his phone down. "Asshole."

The waitress arrived then with their food. It was the same woman from before, and she smiled widely and said, "No Jack this evening?"

"Afraid not," Sam said.

"Shame," she said. "I was hoping to speak to him before he left town this time."

Sam's attention was piqued. "This time?"

"Yeah," she said. "When he took off last time, he didn't say goodbye to any of us. Just disappeared in the night. I think it's better that he goes now though. It can't be fun seeing everyone still in class and him missing out."

"Missing out?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. You know about him getting booted, don't you?"

"He only told us some," Dean lied.

"Oh, well he disappeared for like a month and when he come back, he'd lost it all. The college had booted him. His scholarship was rescinded. He lost his job at the Gas-N-Sip. He even lost his girl to some frat house jock."

Sam wanted to know more, but she seemed to realize she'd said too much already. Her mouth pressed into a hard line and she quickly walked back to the counter.

"Booted, huh," Sam said quietly.

Dean nodded. "And what's the betting that's the link between the victims? The storekeeper, the professor, I'd even lay money on the girlfriend being this morning's victim."

Sam nodded. "If he wasn't a murderous lunatic witch, I'd feel bad for him."

His phone beeped then with a message and Sam opened it.

"Bobby's got us a location. Alta Mesa Memorial Park." He opened a new message and fired off the address and a time to Jack. He stuffed the phone back in his pocket and sighed. "We're doing this."

"We've got no choice," Dean said.

"I know," Sam said "It's just… He was supposed to be the new blood. One of them that would take over for us, you know?"

"I know," Dean said consolingly. "There will be more."

Sam hoped so.

* * *

The trap was laid. They didn't know whether Jack would scout them before he came, so they had Bobby hide in a mausoleum and an invisible Castiel watch from across the park while they set to work digging the grave. It was made harder because they were both still feeling the effects of the hex bag attack. They'd reached bones before Jack arrived though.

"Keep going," Sam murmured.

They climbed out of the grave and started laying the salt and gasoline as Jack approached.

"Hey, guys," he said cheerfully. "Boy, you two don't look so good.

"Bad burgers," Sam said quickly.

Jack nodded. "Could be. Or it could be the hex bag." He grinned. "How'd you manage to survive that anyway?"

Dean and Sam exchanged a glance and Sam shrugged. "We've got angels watching over us, I guess."

Jack laughed. "I guess you must. It's a shame. I liked you guys; you were entertaining for a while. It'll suck to kill you, but I'm guessing it's you or me, right?"

"Right," Dean said stiffly.

"Pity. Well, best get to it."

"Yeah," Sam said, pulling out the colt and aiming it at Jack.

Jack sighed and swept an arm, muttering something under his breath. Dean felt his legs swept out from under him and he was sent skidding back across the grass to rest against a tall gravestone. Sam landed hard six feet away from him, the colt dropped where he had stood. Jack strode forward and picked it up. "Funny looking gun. You know there are better, newer models, right?"

"It's an heirloom," Sam growled.

"Must be," Jack said conversationally. "I'll put it to good use." He lifted it and pointed it at Sam. Sam looked back at him unafraid.

"No, you won't!" a voice shouted.

It happened so fast Dean could do no more than shout an inarticulate warning as Bobby raced out of his hiding place and ran at Jack who turned the gun and aimed it at Bobby instead.

"Bobby!" Sam bellowed.

Dean saw Jack's finger starting to compress the trigger and he heard the crack of the gun, then Jack's neck snapped to the side with a sickening crack. The gun and Jack's body dropped to the ground and the force holding Dean down disappeared. He struggled to his feet, Sam doing the same at his side, and raced at Bobby who appeared to be unharmed but pale as death.

"What happened?" Bobby asked in a shocky voice.

Castiel appeared standing over Jack's body. "I did," he said simply. He opened his hand and revealed a bullet in his palm.

"You saved me?" Bobby asked breathlessly.

"I did," Castiel said simply.

"Thank you," Sam said, gripping Bobby's shoulder for support.

Castiel smiled. "It's what we do."

* * *

In the former office of Professor Rothschild, a TA swept together a pile of files and placed them in a cardboard box. It was a grim task, taking care of her deceased mentor's belongings and work. She picked up the file from the top of the pile and saw the name _Sam Winchester_. The professor had spoken about him a few days before, saying there was an interesting interview on his books. She considered for a moment and then pulled the file from the box. She tucked it under her arm and left the room, determined that someone else that could help see this file.

Professor Rothschild's last interest should be allowed his chance.

* * *

 **So… You meet a new hunter, you make a friend, he turns out to be a murdering witch. Isn't that always the way? ;-)**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	13. Chapter 13

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing this monster for me. Also, thank you SandraEgstrom2 and Gredelina1 for all your help and support.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Thirteen**_

Sam and Dean owed Bobby a visit and decent meal after his rescue on the witch case, so they headed for Sioux Falls instead of The Roadhouse when they booked it out of town—leaving their bloodstained motel room behind. The ride took them a few days and Sam enjoyed being on the road together. They weren't racing to a case or away from an enemy. They were just visiting a friend. The only thing that marred his happiness was the end of his Stanford hopes with the death of the professor. He thought when he got back to The Roadhouse he would put some energy into his other applications.

When they arrived on the third day, Bobby was waiting on his porch for them, shading his eyes from the late afternoon light and frowning. "What's wrong?" he asked as soon as Sam and Dean were out of the car.

It was a telling statement about their lives that the arrival of friends was a worry rather than pleasure.

"Nothing," Sam said easily. "We just thought we'd make a run by on our way home."

Bobby's frown morphed into a smile. "Come on in then." He stepped back and gestured them inside

Dean made straight for the couch and flopped down on it, stretching his legs out. "Damn, three days on the road is tough."

"You're getting old," Sam stated.

Dean picked up a pillow and lobbed it at Sam. His throw was sloppy, and Sam was able to catch it before it hit his face.

"Weak," he said as Dean closed his eyes and leaned back against the couch cushions.

"You boys come for a nap, too?" Bobby asked gruffly.

"Nah, we thought we owed you a steak after your save," Sam said. "Let Princess there have his power nap and we'll take you out."

Bobby smiled. "It's been a while since I've been 'taken out'."

"Ask nice and Sammy'll hold your hand," Dean said lazily.

Sam threw the pillow back at him hard. It hit his face.

Dean grabbed it, tucked it behind his head, then leaned back smiling peacefully.

Sam walked over to the desk and looked at the books that Bobby had open. "Case?" he asked.

Bobby shook his head. "I'm just seeing if there's anything in my demonology texts that might give us a head's up for Crowley."

"Anything?" Dean asked hopefully, cracking one eye open.

"Afraid not. Even the obscure volumes are coming up empty. The problem is that Crowley isn't just a demon now. He's powered up on grace, souls and Death's ring. We're a little lacking."

"If we could just get the ring off of him," Sam said. "The horsemen were useless without theirs."

"Yeah, but they didn't have grace and souls backing them up," Bobby said. "I just don't see what _we_ can do that Death and Archangels can't."

Sam shook his head. "Me either."

There was a moment of silence in which the only unexplored possibility seemed to hang in the air and then Bobby cleared his throat and Sam looked away.

"Beer?" Bobby asked. Sam nodded and prompted Dean by thumping down beside him and nudging him. "Nah. I'll drive," Dean said.

"Though you were too tired," Sam said.

Dean opened an eye and grinned. "Never too tired for my baby."

"And that doesn't sound remotely disturbing," Bobby said.

Sam laughed and thanked him as he took the proffered beer.

"It does seem stupid," Dean said, evidentially following his own train of thought. "We've got Angels, Archangels, Reapers and _Death_ on our side, and we're all waiting around for some stroke of inspiration to come to us before we act."

"What do you suggest?" Bobby asked.

"That's just it," Dean said. "I don't know. It's just that we're better armed than we have ever been before, and we've got no idea how to take care of Crowley. If we could just combine all that power into one weapon, we'd be able to take him out no problem."

"Combine how though," Sam asked thoughtfully.

"No idea," Dean sighed.

Sam glanced at Bobby and saw he was staring out of the window, his brow furrowed beneath his trucker cap and his eyes distant.

"You got something, Bobby?" he asked.

Bobby jerked. "What? I mean no. Nothing."

Sam frowned. "You sure?"

"Absolutely. Now, didn't you boys say something about steak?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "How does _Henri's_ sound?"

"Sounds great," Bobby said. "I'll just wash up and then I'll be ready."

"We better change, too," Dean said lazily, pushing himself up off the couch. "I'll get our stuff."

Sam watched Bobby exit through the hall door and Dean head out to the car and he sat in thoughtful silence. He had a feeling Bobby might just have had an idea for how to take care of Crowley, but he wasn't sharing, which made Sam think it was an idea they wouldn't like. All he could think of that it could be was blood, and he wasn't going to instigate that conversation. Not unless there was no other choice.

* * *

With no case to work, Sam and Dean decided to have another day at Bobby's before going back to The Roadhouse. Feeling cowardly, Dean let Sam make the call to Ellen to let her know they were going be even later getting to her. He knew she wanted to know how things had gone at the college, and Sam would have to tell her that—no matter how well it had gone—the professor who had interviewed him had been killed, almost certainly without having a chance to present him to the panel. There were other colleges, other states, but Dean wanted Stanford for Sam. He wanted him to have that life. He'd even been looking into social work offices in the area and—though he hadn't told Sam—options for further study for himself. If Sam had gotten that scholarship, he could maybe have managed it. Ellen was going to be disappointed, and Dean knew Sam hated to disappoint her, even when he had no control over it. A fact exemplified by his dour mood when he came back from making the call.

Dean didn't speak. He just handed him a coffee and patted his shoulder then collected their breakfast plates from the table and delivered them to Bobby who was doing the dishes.

"So, what's the plan for today?" Bobby asked.

"I was thinking I'd give the Impala some TLC if you've got a free bay," Dean said.

"Sure," Bobby said. "I'll give you a hand. Sam?"

Sam smiled slightly. "Like either of you would let me anywhere near the engine when you've got your greasers caps on."

"True," Bobby said.

"I'll give the park a few circuits then hunker down in your library if that's okay," he said. "I'm pretty sure there's a few hundred books I've not had a chance to glance over yet."

Bobby nodded. "You're probably right. There's some new texts, too. If you're looking for anything in particular, let me know."

"Will do," Sam said distractedly, pulling his beeping phone out of his pocket.

"Ellen?" Dean asked.

"Unknown number." He pressed a button on his phone and frowned at the screen.

"What is it?"

"Coordinates," Sam said quietly. "Someone sent me coordinates."

"Weird," Bobby said.

Sam nodded, his eyes still fixed on the screen and his expression closed.

"What's wrong, Sam?" Bobby asked.

Sam looked up at Dean. "Dad," he said simply.

"Yeah," Dean said slowly then turned to Bobby to explain. "When we were kids, Dad would leave us coordinates when he was on a case, letting us know where he was going."

"He used to text them to me for cases," Sam said. "When I was out of high school and taking hunts alone, I'd get texts with coordinates of places and whatever details and clues he'd found."

"And someone sent you some now?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah, but nothing else. No details."

"Who knows about this?" Bobby asked. "Other than the pair of you, who would know?"

Dean considered but Sam answered quickly. "Chuck, and if he added it to the books, any other mook that read them. Probably dozens of other hunters, too, as he would arrange meetings that way."

"Okay, that narrows it down to practically everyone we know," Bobby said, "and a bunch of fan girls."

Sam frowned. "Fan girls?"

"Story for another time," Bobby said. "Point is, it could be anyone."

"Including Michael," Sam said darkly. "Lucifer could read my mind, my memories, my thoughts and feelings when he was in me. Michael can do the same with Dad. He might want us there, wherever there is. Hold on." He moved to the desk and flipped Bobby's laptop open. He tapped at the keys for a moment and then said, "Montana. Whoever it is wants us in Bozeman, Montana."

"What's there?" Bobby asked.

Sam shrugged. "Give me a few." He dialed a number and held the phone to his ear. "Ash, it's me. I need you to look up Bozeman, Montana for demon signs." He paused to listen. "Not sure yet. Yeah, I know she won't be happy, but this could be about lives, Ash." He sounded so much like John Winchester in that moment that Dean winced. "Nothing? Yeah? Okay. Yeah. Put her on." He waited and grimaced. "Hey, Ellen. Yeah. I know I said that, but something's come up. I don't know how long we'll be, but we'll come straight back to you, okay?" He sighed. "Yeah, I promise. Soon as we can." He smiled slightly. "I always am. I'll tell him. See you real soon." He ended the call and sighed. "Well, she's even more pissed now."

"What's happening in Bozeman?" Dean asked.

"There's missing people. They went on some team building wilderness camp and didn't come out. The rangers are out looking, but they're not so hopeful now. I think we're being sent to help."

"Or it's a trap," Bobby said.

"Or it's a trap," Sam agreed. "Either way, I think it's worth looking into. Dean?"

Dean couldn't help but remember their last trap had been set by Lucifer himself, and it had ended with Sam being tortured. "I don't know…"

"I think we have to at least look into it a little deeper," Sam said.

"Okay," Dean said. "We'll take a trip north and poke around a little."

Sam smiled and nodded. "Absolutely. Great. Ellen sends her love and tells us to be careful." He drained his coffee and made for the hall. "I'll grab our stuff," he called over his shoulder.

Dean watched him go and then turned back to Bobby. "Why do we need to be careful poking around?"

Bobby huffed a laugh. "You don't. Your brother just knows you well enough to know that when you're there, you won't turn away."

Dean raked a hand over his face. "And if it is a trap?"

Bobby clapped him on the shoulder. "If it is, we will take care of it."

"We?"

"You think I'm letting you two yahoos run off on your own? Not a chance. I'm coming with."

Dean grinned. "Thanks, Bobby."

* * *

It was evening by the time they arrived in Bozeman, too late to do more than book into a motel and get some dinner.

Sam was surprised but pleased Bobby had come along. The days of wanting to go it alone all the time had come and gone. He'd learned from his mistakes and he had more regard for Bobby's experience now. And his friendship. He was a good man and Sam owed him for how he had helped Dean throughout his life. Sam hadn't been there all the time—Bobby had. Also, he knew Bobby genuinely cared. He could see now that; just because there were years between them and much loss, Bobby still saw him as family, and that meant something.

Sam woke before Dean and decided to forgo his morning run in favor of getting to work researching the disappearances. He wanted to have a good idea of what they were going into before they headed out. He booted up the laptop and scoured the articles. When he realized there was nothing there that was going to help locate the missing people, he broke through the pathetic security on the park services' database and read their reports. He saw something there that pissed him off as much as it relieved him. They were tailing down the search. They'd already given up on it being a rescue and were treating it like a recovery mission now. It angered him that they'd give up so easily. Those missing people had families waiting for them. He acknowledged that fewer people traipsing through the woods would make their job easier though.

When Dean woke, Sam left him to shower and went across the street to a small coffee place to get them breakfast. On his way back he went to the next room to see if Bobby was awake. He knocked on the door and it was opened after a moment. Bobby looked like he'd been awake for hours. The small table under the window was lit by the screen of the laptop and his journal was open to a page of scrawled notes.

"Anything good?" Sam asked.

"Plenty," Bobby said. "Dean awake?"

"Yeah. Just cleaning up."

Bobby went back into his room and grabbed his journal and then followed Sam back into his room. Dean was just tying his boots, and he took the offered coffee from Sam gratefully. Bobby took a seat at the table and pulled the top off of his cup and drank quickly then set it down again.

"What did you come up with?" he asked Sam.

"They were last seen in the Absaroka-Beartooth wilderness. Three teams of twelve went out with an instructor for a five-day trip. The first two teams made it back fine, but the third never showed. They had all the gear—satellite phones and GPS, but nothing's tracking."

Bobby nodded. "Well, I did a history sweep. People have gone missing over the years, but they're usually unprepared for the wilderness or bear bait. There was a cluster of disappearances twenty-three years ago, though, and before that, in the sixties, an army group that was doing survival training disappeared leaving nothing but a camp behind. You see where I'm going with this?"

"Wendigo," Dean sighed. "It's the wrong hunting range though, isn't it? Wendigos are in Michigan and Minnesota."

"We nixed that theory when I was in school," Sam said. "Me and Dad took one out in Washington once. As long as the circumstances were right in the beginning, back when it was created, there can be Wendigos anywhere."

Dean grumbled, "Well, ain't that awesome."

"In a way it is," Bobby said. "We know what we're going after right off the bat. We can arm ourselves."

"I've got flamethrowers," Sam said.

"I've got a couple flare guns," Bobby said. "But do either of you have camping gear stashed away somewhere? Because we're going to need that, too."

Sam and Dean shook their heads.

"Then we're going to have to shop," Bobby said.

* * *

They trailed the aisles of the camping store, grabbing things up when instructed and stowing them in the cart Bobby was pushing. Dean couldn't help but be reminded of the shopping trips they used to take with Bobby when they were staying with him as kids. Back then he would let them choose a couple things each to get. They would get the makings of s'mores every time. Then the evening would be spent in front of the fireplace, melting marshmallows to smear onto graham crackers while Bobby scolded them for dropping crumbs all over the place while his eyes smiled.

"What's got you grinning?" Bobby asked, peering at him.

"Nothing," Dean said quickly. "Just thinking."

Bobby reached up onto a shelf and pulled down three bright orange packages. He tossed them into the cart and seeing Dean's curious look, said, "Survival bags. We sleep in them."

"No tent?"

"You want to carry it, go ahead," Bobby said. "These things will keep us warm enough."

Dean conceded to his experience. He'd spent the night in the woods before, hunting with his father, but he'd never gone camping properly. Motels and nights crashing in the car were more his thing.

"Survival bags aside," Sam said, "do we really need all this?"

Bobby halted the cart and looked thoughtful. "That depends, I guess, on whether you want to come out again." He started on the aisle again, smiling. Sam followed shaking his head but looking amused.

When they reached the register, Sam and Dean pooled their cash and went to pay in time to see Bobby tucking his wallet back into his pocket. "What?" he asked at Dean's questioning look. "It's not like you two have got jobs." He stowed the sacks in the cart and made for the exit.

"He's not wrong," Dean said, shrugging.

When they got back to the motel, they loaded the backpacks they'd bought with all they would need for the trek into the forest, including water, protein, and blankets. Sam rooted through his duffel and bought out an old and tarnished compass. Dean reached for it automatically. "That's Dad's."

Sam nodded and handed it over. "From when he was in the military. He left it in the trunk when he… you know. I kept it." He sounded a little guilty.

"He'd have wanted you to," Dean reassured him, clasping his fingers around the cool metal for a moment and then handing it back. Sam tucked it back in his pocket and patted it.

There was a knock on the door and Sam opened it to reveal Bobby standing on the threshold. "You boys about ready?" he asked and when they nodded, he went on. "I think I've found us a prime hunting ground for our Wendigo, too. There's a cave system on the east side of the mountain.

"Great," Sam said. "Narrows it down."

"Exactly," Bobby said. "Now, either of you handle a satellite phone before?"

"No," Dean said and Sam shook his head.

Bobby came in deeper to the room and set his backpack down on the bed. He pulled a large phone from his pocket and started talking them through the menus. Sam watched carefully, taking it all in, and then focused as he took a turn on his own with it. "Got it?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah," Sam said, handing it back. "That's actually going to be pretty useful."

"Always is," Bobby said.

They went out to the car, stowed the bags in the trunk and then got in. Sam took the driver's side and Bobby shotgun, leaving Dean to ride in the back like a kid. He didn't mind particularly though. It was a short drive to the forest and it wasn't long before Dean persuaded Sam to stop at a campground to save the Impala's suspension.

They set out on the path into the forest, Sam taking the lead, marking off trail markers on his map and Bobby and Dean followed.

* * *

They were forced to stop that night when dark settled as they'd left the trail and didn't want to get lost and need rescuing themselves. Of course that was an unlikely outcome as they'd not told anyone but Ash where they were going and, genius he may be, he knew crap about tracking without a laptop handy. Though Sam supposed there might be a hunter left on good enough terms to come find them if they didn't come back.

They decided to take shifts sleeping to lessen their risks of becoming bear bait or the Wendigo's next snack. Dean took first shift and Sam the graveyard shift of three-am, when all you wanted to do was sleep. Dean offered to stay awake with him a while, but Sam refused, saying they'd all need to be alert the next day when they—hopefully—reached the caves.

In the dim light of the campfire Sam pulled the compass from his pocket and slowly turned it in his hands. His father's… Dean was right, John probably would want Sam to use it the way he would want Dean to have his old jacket. Sam wished he could give it back though. He wished his father was really there with them again. He hated that Michael was riding his body, even though he knew it wouldn't be the trial Lucifer had been for him. Michael had stuffed John away in a memory of Mary, which was a mercy in a way, but it was not the same as having him with them. It seemed wrong that Sam had gotten his release from his archangel but his father had not.

He thought of Lucifer. He remembered every harrowing moment of his time with of Lucifer in the Cage, but he didn't _feel_ those memories. He wondered how he had missed Gabriel's influence for so long. He'd thought the relief of his freedom and return to his family overshadowed it. He realized now, after those nightmares, that even freedom and family wouldn't have been enough to save him from that hell. He owed Gabriel more than he could repay, though how to meet that debt he didn't know. He supposed saving his life would be a good start if only he knew how to do that. The answer of blood was quick to his mind, but he didn't feel sure that even that would be enough anymore. He had a feeling he would end up with his brain leaking out of his ears if he was to try using his powers on Crowley as he was now.

Just then, there was a flutter on the air and Gabriel appeared. "You rang," he said a little truculently.

"I did?" Sam asked. "I didn't say a word."

Gabriel frowned. "Oh. You must have been thinking serious _'all hail Gabriel'_ thoughts."

"Pretty sure I wasn't thinking _that,_ but I was thinking about you."

"What were you thinking then?"

Sam grimaced. "That I owe you."

"You do," Gabriel said quickly. "Boy, oh boy, do you. Which of your many debts are you talking about this time, though?"

"The Cage, how you blocked the…"

"Experience," Gabriel supplied. "Yes. How are you going to pay your debt?" His eyes were alight with glee or malice, Sam couldn't tell.

"I don't know," Sam said. "You got any ideas?"

"I could do with a foot rub." He waggled a boot at Sam.

Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe not," he amended. "I don't know, Sam. The obvious answer is you take care of Crowley for me, but since not even Death seems to know how you can do that… Worry not. I will think of something."

"I'm sure you will."

He gestured at Dean and Bobby, tucked deep in their survival bags,. "So, what are you doing out here on this less than balmy night? Family bonding?"

"Wendigo," Sam said.

"Ah, monster of the week for the Winchesters. I'd say I'd stay to help, but I really don't want to. Besides, I have a philandering reverend whose dipping into church funds to punish."

"You're still doing that?" Sam asked. "With everything else that's happening?"

"Are you still trying to save lives from the monsters?" Gabriel asked. "With everything else that's happening?"

"Death told us to."

"He did. Probably best you listen, too, since he's _Death_. Do not want to mess with that one. Anyway, since you don't actually need my help this time, I best be heading off."

"Wait!" Sam said. "How did you find us?"

"I tracked Grandpa Singer's GPS," he said simply. "I like to keep an eye on my pets."

"We're not your pets!" Sam said angrily."

Gabriel just winked as he snapped his fingers and disappeared. There was a flutter in the air and something fell onto Sam's lap. He picked it up and saw a geographical map of the forest and a red circled area by the mountain. Beside the circle was a note in an untidy scrawl. _'Here there be Wendigos – Gabriel.'_

Sam took out his compass and started plotting a route, smiling to himself. He may be a dick, but Gabriel was sometimes very useful.

* * *

Sam didn't bother waking Bobby for his shift, but when Dean and Bobby woke around six, when the birds started their chorus, he was still alert and satisfied. In his hand was the map.

"Found our Wendigo," he said.

Dean struggled out of his bag and stumbled to his feet. "You went looking alone?" he asked, his tone indicating that he'd thought Sam was done with the life endangering, go-it-alone thing.

"No. We had a visitor in the night. Gabriel came by. He left this for us." He handed over the map and Dean read the message.

"Oh. I guess that's helpful," he said. "Could have stuck around and simplified the hunt for us though."

"He had somewhere he needed to be. Some dodgy reverend's probably getting his just desserts right about now."

"He's still doing that?" Bobby asked.

"I said the same thing," Sam admitted. "I guess he figures Death's instruction to go on as normal applies to him, too."

"Guess so," Dean said.

"Well, dick as he is, he's cut down our time spent stumbling around looking for the right cave," Bobby said. "We should get there as soon as we can."

While Dean and Bobby gulped water and ate energy bars, Sam packed up their rudimentary camp and doused the fire. Sam showed Bobby the map, and he logged in the coordinates to the cave and then set off with Sam and Dean at his sides.

As they walked, Sam wondered about the coordinates and who had sent them. It crossed his mind that it could have been Gabriel as he had known where to find them, but why he'd want them hunting he wasn't sure. It didn't seem like a very Gabriel-like thing to do—to save unknown people. Sure, he'd tried to save the world, but Sam always thought that was more about his enjoyment of the earth than a desire to save people. Wasn't it more likely that it was Michael screwing with them? Wherever the message had come from, it was a real case and it was going to save lives. That was what mattered.

They came to the missing people's ruined campsite around lunchtime. Even if they hadn't already known what they were tracking, they would have had a good clue of a Wendigo by the slashes in the tents and the fact the food had been left behind. They grabbed a few extra pieces of kit from the ruined camp—reflective blankets and some more water. Sam wondered if there would be any survivors at all when they didn't even have water to sustain themselves. They didn't linger once they had what they needed. Bobby said they were a few miles from the caves and they were all hyperaware that they needed to move fast if they had a chance at saving anyone.

* * *

They reached the cave system mid-afternoon. Dean felt an immediate sense of hopelessness when they arrived, as there was a selection of entrances and a myriad of turnings when you entered those. He had no idea where they were going to start. Sam seemed to have a plan though. He rooted through his duffel and pulled out three cans of spray paint.

"Split up?" he asked, looking at Dean and Bobby.

Dean bit his lip. He didn't want to separate, but at the same time he was aware that they could spend all day exploring the different caves.

"Think we have to," Bobby said calmly, apparently feeling none of Dean's turmoil.

Sam nodded his agreement and Dean stowed his own worry in the face of their combined experience.

"Let me just do this first," Sam said, taking his can of paint and walking to the mouth of the first cave entrance. He painted a large _1_ on the side of the entrance and then moved on, numbering each of the cave mouths.

"Letter the secondary entrances," he said. "You find anything, come back and get the others. Only engage if you're forced."

Dean nodded, picking up his homemade flamethrower from his bag and stuffing his flare gun in the back of his pants. Sam and Bobby armed themselves, too, and then an awkward silence fell over them for a moment.

"Well," Bobby said. "You boys be careful." He set off into the first cave and Dean heard the hiss of a spray can painting a letter on the wall.

"Only if you're forced," Sam reminded him then patted his shoulder and disappeared in the second entrance.

"You too," Dean said to the empty air and then made for the third.

He marked the first entrance and then stowed the can in his jacket pocket and gripped his flamethrower. The flare gun would have been a better weapon for a distance, but the Wendigo wasn't going to allow itself to be snuck up on. It was going to be a close quarters kill. Dean didn't like those. There was more danger, and it was more traumatic. Monster or no, it was always hard to see the light go out of eyes as death came. He wondered idly if Bobby and Sam felt the same way or if their lives and the sheer number of kills under their belts meant that they were immune to it now.

He marked three more secondary entrances, finding nothing, before he heard a scream. He ran back to the forest and spun on his heel, trying to work out where the sound came from to no avail with his heart in his throat, and then Bobby burst out of the second cave mouth.

"You hear that?" he asked.

"It wasn't Sam," Bobby reassured.

"I know, but it was someone and they were scared as all hell."

"One-D," Sam's voice carried back to them through the caves, echoing from the stone walls.

Dean breathed a sigh of relief at the steady quality of his voice and then followed Bobby into the caves again.

Voice carried back to them and Dean heard Sam's, soft and soothing, saying, "It's okay. We're here to help you. Take a breath."

When they reached him, Dean saw Sam crouched beside a woman who was cowering against the cave wall, her hands shaking. He looked around the space and saw six more people—four women and two men—gathered together and looking terrified.

Sam had his hand on the crying woman's shoulder and he was murmuring quietly. He looked up at Dean and shrugged helplessly.

Dean looked at the tallest man standing the other side of the cave and asked, "What's her name?"

"M-Melanie," he stuttered.

Dean thanked him and then moved to crouch next to Sam. He touched the woman's arm, feeling the tension in her, and said, "Melanie, my name is Dean, this is my brother Sam, and that's Bobby. I know you're scared, but we're here to help you. We're not the monster. We're friends."

Melanie looked up at him, nodded once, and then fainted against Sam.

* * *

Bobby handed around packets of protein bars and bottles of fresh water, and they left Melanie to the care of one of her friends in the group, a woman named Avril. They were all traumatized, scared, hungry and thirsty, but they were calmer than they had been when Sam had arrived.

Dean sat among the group, on their level, but Sam and Bobby remained standing, ready to jump into action at a moment's notice.

While he listened to the explanation of what had happened to them, he looked around their cave. They'd cleverly managed to gather the condensation dripping from the wall with the use of a windbreaker and small rocks, but they'd had no food since their second day.

"We were sleeping," the tallest of the group, David, said. "It came and took Joe and Marcy, ruined our camp. We tried to get out of the forest, but Joe was our guide and when we lost him, we lost the GPS devices. We found the caves, and it was raining, so we thought we'd hide here until it stopped."

"There were twelve of you though," Sam said. "Where are the others?"

"It came back," David said darkly.

"It always comes back," Melanie whispered.

"We tried to leave again," David said. "When it got dark. We thought we could hide in the dark, but it attacked us. It took Mason. The rest of us escaped."

No, Sam thought, not escaped; they were saved for later.

"It comes every time we leave," David said. "Whenever we try to leave, it takes one of us." He shrugged helplessly. "We have to try though."

"Of course you do," Dean said. "You'll be okay now. We'll get you out of here."

Sam cleared his throat and he looked up. He seemed to be imploring Sam not to say something harsh and soul destroying to them, but Sam didn't need the warning look. He knew these people were on the cusp of complete meltdowns as it was, and, harsh as it may sound, he needed them sane a little longer to get them out alive.

"Can I speak with you a minute, Dean?" he said.

Dean got to his feet and followed Sam to the corner, Bobby on his heels. "I know it's not going to be easy," he whispered before Sam could speak, "but we can't let them know just how bad this is. They're barely hanging on."

"I know," Sam said quickly. "I won't say anything."

Dean nodded. "How are we going to get them out though?"

"We leave," Bobby said.

Dean frowned, but Sam thought he understood. "We've been allowed in, right?"

Bobby nodded.

"So it's not going to be happy if it thinks we're leaving."

"Exactly," Bobby said. "I think we should arm up and get out of here."

"We can't move them all at once," Dean said.

"No, we have to keep them here till it's dead. I think we need to tag team it. One of us stays here and keeps the civilians from making another run for it, and the others go ahead and lure it out."

"I'm going out," Sam said, and when Bobby raised an eyebrow, he went on, "I'm not the best person to keep them calm, and we all know it." He might find it easier to connect with people now than he had before, but he would not be able to be calm if Dean was out there, putting his life on the line, and that would infect the others with fear. He looked into Bobby's eyes, imploring him to understand so he wouldn't have to lay out the facts and potentially annoy Dean.

"Okay," Bobby agreed. "You two play bait, and I'll stay here."

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't want Dean on the line, but if they were together, they could watch each other's backs. He could keep Dean safe.

Dean nodded, perhaps thinking along the same lines as Sam. "Works for me. When do we do it?"

"We need to lay the groundwork," Sam said. "We have to assume the Wendigo is listening, even if it isn't, and they're damn smart. If we make it sound like we're going out for help, we can lure it after us. It won't want its food to get away after all."

"Let's get it done then," Bobby said. "Sooner these poor people are out of here, the better."

* * *

Sam really was damn good at what he did, Dean thought as he watched Sam standing over the group, calming and laying the trap at the same time.

"There is a ranger station pretty close to here," he said. "Me and Dean are going to get there and call in help. People are already looking for you, so they'll be close. They can help us all get out safely."

David and the rest of their party—except Melanie—looked reassured. Melanie was too traumatized to do anything but whimper. Dean thought she was going to need a massive amount of therapy to get over what had happened to her here.

"Bobby is going to stay here," Dean said. "He'll take care of you."

Bobby nodded and they moved to the mouth of their cave. Sam and Dean were going armed only with their flare guns and flamethrowers. They didn't want backpacks encumbering them. "You boys sure about this?" he asked.

"Positive," Sam said. "Keep them calm and quiet, and we'll be back as soon as we can."

"As soon as it's dead," Bobby said.

Sam nodded. "Exactly."

He patted Bobby on the back and walked away. Dean made to follow but Bobby caught his arm. "Keep an eye on him, Dean."

"Always do," Dean said.

"Yeah, and he does you," Bobby said. "Sometimes that puts him in the sights of trouble. Just… be careful."

"We will," Dean said, patting Bobby's hand where it lay on his arm and then hurrying after Sam.

They walked in silence for a while and then Sam asked, "What was that about?"

Dean smiled wryly. "He was just reminding me that you like to jump in front of danger and he wanted me to keep an eye on you."

"I don't…" Sam shook his head, then stopped and corrected himself. "There's always a reason."

"No argument from me," Dean said. "Would be good if we could skip that part today though."

"I'll do my best," Sam said.

They walked in a little further, out of the mouth of the cave and into the forest. "Are you going to miss this?" Dean asked.

"Traipsing through the woods after a Wendigo?" Sam asked. "Probably not."

"Hunting," Dean prompted. "The adrenaline."

Sam considered for a long time before answering. "Yeah, I think I probably will. I'll regret not saving lives more, but we're not the only hunters in the world. I can pass on anything I see, and if people need information, I will be available." He paused. "I don't know how I'm going to feel until I do it. I might hate college. I might feel as out of place as I am sure to be. But I want to try at least. Do you know what I mean?"

"I do," Dean said. "I felt the same when I started college. I think everyone does. It was so different to anything I'd ever known before. I made it work though, and you will, too."

Sam nodded and they carried on. They had been walking a while, outwardly sauntering but inwardly prepared for trouble, when a distant cry reached them.

"Bobby!" Sam gasped, and turned and ran back toward the caves.

Dean followed as fast as he could. He didn't have Sam's well-practiced speed though, and he was soon lagging. "Go, Sam!" he shouted after him, and Sam sped even faster. Dean raced after him, reaching the caves in time to see Sam's shirt whipping around a corner.

" _In the sights of trouble…"_ Bobby's words seemed to echo around Dean's head as he ran. Sam did dive into trouble for others, but he wasn't the only one. Bobby did, too. They all did. That was what hunting was about.

"Drop, Sam!" Bobby's order echoed back along the caves to him and Dean's heart leaped. He was okay enough to be shouting. There was the sound of something meaty hitting the floor and then the pop and whoosh of a flare gun being discharged. It was quickly followed by a roar of pain and a bright light filling the cave.

"Dean?" Sam shouted, his voice tight.

"I'm here," he shouted back. "I'm okay."

He staggered along the tunnel toward Sam's voice, his flamethrower gripped tightly in his hand in case the flare hadn't done a good enough job. It had though. When he rounded a corner, he saw the smoldering remains of the Wendigo on the stone floor.

Sam was pushing himself to his feet and Bobby was standing wide-stance with the flare gun still held out in front of him.

Dean sighed with relief at the sight of them. "You're okay?"

"Everyone is," Bobby said, jerking is head over his shoulder at the gathered civilians with their wide, scared eyes and shaking hands. "At least they will be."

* * *

David supported Melanie as they stumbled along the twig strewn ground. She was shaking still, as she had been throughout their ordeal, never more than when that monster had come for them. The older man, though, had saved them. He had held it at bay with some kind of flamethrower, and when that had failed, he'd dropped it and pulled a flare gun with a move so fast it was like something out of a Western. Calling out a warning to his friend, he'd shot the thing right in the chest, and it had stood afire for a moment before dropping and smoldering on the floor.

He was a hero.

Things blurred a little after that. The three men who had come gathered them all up and paired them with a buddy to make their way out of the forest. The older man had placed a call on his phone when they got out of the caves and had led them through the trees like he was following a path only he could see.

David was thinking only of his gnawing hunger that the protein bar hadn't quashed and his need for ice cold water when he heard the distant shouts ahead of him.

The older man, Bobby, came to a stop and turned to face them. "There's more people to help you there," he said. "Tell them what you need to, but forget our names, okay?"

"What do we tell them about the monster?" David asked.

"Whatever you want. Whatever you think they'll believe."

He stepped back to stand with the other two and gestured them ahead. David needed no more encouragement than that to get back to civilization. He stumbled forward, pulling Melanie along with him and shouting, "Hello! We're here! Help us!"

Within a minute the group was surrounded by a people in khaki green uniforms. Someone took Melanie from him and he turned, relieved and on the cusp of thanking Bobby and his friends, when he realized they were gone. All that was there was an expanse of empty forest.

They'd gone before he could thank them for saving his life.

* * *

 **So… What did you think?**

 **One of the best things about this story is writing Sam and Bobby as friends, maybe family, again. I've missed that.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	14. Chapter 14

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing and SandraEngstrom2 and Gredelina1 for all your help.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Fourteen**_

Dean was just tying his boots when his cell rang on the dresser. He checked the caller ID and answered with a cheerful, "Sonny!"

" _Hey, Dean. How's it going?"_

"Good," Dean said, sitting on the edge of his bed and running a hand through his damp hair. "You?"

"We're all okay. Well, not bad. Are you busy?"

"Not at all. We just wrapped up a hunt."

" _Nowhere close I suppose?"_

"Afraid not. It was in Montana and we just got back to The Roadhouse. What's wrong?"

A sigh crackled over the line. _"I think, and I hate even saying it, but I think I have a hunt for you boys."_

Dean straightened. "What's wrong?"

" _Missing people and some weird crops. I wouldn't bother you with it if I didn't have to, but these kids are relying on me to keep them safe, and if there is something out there… I'm not equipped for this, Dean."_

"Okay. We'll be there as soon as we can. Take care, Sonny."

" _Will do. And you boys drive safe. See you."_

Dean ended the call and lowered the phone to his lap just as Sam came into the room, toweling his hair dry. He took in Dean's expression for a moment and asked, "What's wrong?"

"Sonny thinks there's a hunt in Hurleyville. I've said we'll help."

"Of course. Did he give you any idea what it could be?"

"No. Just missing people and something strange about the crops."

Sam's expression became somber. "Okay. I don't think we should drive; it'll take us too long. You call Cas and I'll load up a couple duffels with everything we could need."

He made for the door and Dean raised his eyes and said, "Castiel. We're at The Roadhouse and we need some help."

There was a rustle, like the beat of wings, and Castiel appeared. "What has happened?" he asked.

"My friend Sonny has a case for us in Hurleyville. Do you think you could give us a ride over?"

"Yes, of course, where is Sam?"

"Just getting us some weapons."

Dean grabbed his gun from the dresser, tucked it into the back of his pants, and walked through to the bar where he could hear the chink of glass as Ellen filled the shelves for another day's trade. She looked up as he came in and her smile faded.

Before she could speak, Dean launched into an explanation of what was happening. "Sonny's got trouble. Me and Sam are heading there now. Cas is taking us."

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked.

"Get Ash up and ready to work," he suggested.

"Of course," she said. "Be careful."

"Always am."

Sam came in, two duffels in his hands. He handed one to Dean, smiled ruefully at Ellen and said, "Let's go."

Ellen opened her mouth to speak, but they were already in motion, whipped away from the bar and set down in Sonny's yard.

Dean made straight for the door, calling Sonny's name. Sonny appeared on the threshold, a look of shock on his face. "When you said fast, I thought maybe a couple days."

"We flew," Dean said, gesturing at Castiel.

Sonny nodded slowly. "That's pretty handy. Come on in. There's someone here."

"I will stay close," Castiel said. "Call if you need me."

Dean nodded and they followed Sonny into the house and through to the lounge. A woman sat on the couch, a crumpled Kleenex in her hands and a guitar case propped beside her.

Dean's eyes widened. "Robin?"

She smiled sadly. "Hello, Dean."

* * *

Sam watched curiously as the woman got to her feet and embraced Dean. The way she buried her face into his neck convinced Sam this wasn't just an old friend. He remembered something about girlfriends in the cards Dean had sent him, the cards he'd shredded in his misplaced anger. Was one of them called Robin? He couldn't remember but thought so.

Robin pulled back from Dean and wiped a hand across her face, smearing the tears that had fallen. Dean kept a hand on her shoulder as he turned back and said, "Robin, this is my brother, Sam."

Her eyes widened slightly and then she forced a smile for him and held out a hand. Sam took it and shook. "It's really nice to meet you," he said.

"You too," she said fervently.

Sam was sure she had been at least close to Dean even if they weren't a couple, as she obviously knew at least part of their story and how they'd been separated.

"Robin's husband, Justin, is one of the missing men," Sonny explained.

"I'm so sorry," Dean said sincerely.

Robin nodded and sniffed. "He's been gone two days."

Sonny wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed gently. "Sam and Dean are here to help."

"How can you help?" she asked.

"It's what we do," Sam said.

"Are you a cop?"

"No," Sam admitted. "But I, we, help people in our own way."

She looked a little doubtful but Sonny said, "If anyone can bring Justin back, it's them, Robin."

"Trust us. Trust me," Dean said softly.

She nodded. "Okay."

Sonny led her back to the couch and she sat. Dean took a seat beside her and Sam watched as she shifted a little closer, close enough that they were pressed against each other. Sam perched on the opposite armchair and said, "What can you tell us about Justin's disappearance?"

"He was closing up," she said quietly.

"Robin and Justin run the diner in town," Sonny supplied.

Sam had driven past the place, but he'd never been in. They'd always eaten at Sonny's when in town. He now wondered if Dean had purposefully avoided the place though.

"He sent me home because I was tired. I didn't realize he was gone until morning," she said guiltily. "As soon as I got home, I went to bed. I woke up in the morning and saw he hadn't come home. I checked the diner, but he was gone."

"Were there any signs anyone else was there?" Dean asked carefully.

"One of the tables was knocked over and there was…" She shuddered. "There was blood."

Sonny handed her a fresh Kleenex from the box on the coffee table. She took it gratefully and leaned against Dean as if she didn't have the strength to hold herself up anymore.

"Was there anything else?" Sam asked. "Any strange smells maybe?"

She shook her head, looking confused. "No. Apart from the table and blood, it was like it always was."

"Okay," Sam said. "Sonny, can I have a word?"

Sonny rose to his feet and Dean started to, but Sam stopped him with a shake of the head. Sam had a couple questions but Dean didn't need to be there for them. He was more use comforting his friend.

They walked into the kitchen, and Sam lowered his voice. "Dean said there was something about crops, too."

"It's probably easier if I show you," Sonny said, leading him out of the house.

They walked out to the barn, and Sonny pulled the door open and gestured Sam ahead of him. He walked inside and took in the crates of fruit and veggies stacked against the wall. There were so many of them, too many compared to the numbers there had been when he was last here helping out with the farm. In the corner was a pile of beautifully ripened pumpkins. Sam knew little about farming or harvest times, but even he knew that it was too early for them to be ready.

"It happened overnight," Sonny said. "And I mean overnight. Everything was suddenly ready. Fruit that shouldn't harvest till fall, veggies that were still growing, were suddenly ripe and ready to harvest."

"And this has never happened before?" Sam asked.

"Never in my time, and according to some of the old-timers in town, never to them either. I'll be honest, Sam, it wasn't looking like a good crop this year but then this happened. We've got more than we've ever had before. No spoilage."

Sam nodded slowly. "It's definitely not natural then, and obviously not demons taking people. They ruin crops not boost them."

"What does boost a crop?"

Sam sighed. "Nothing good."

There was the sound of racing footsteps then and much laughter. Sam frowned and walked out of the barn to see a group of kids, Jacob among them, jogging toward the porch steps.

"Jacob took over your running sessions when you left," Sonny explained.

Jacob caught his eyes then and grinned. "Sam! You here to run?"

Sam pushed aside his disconcert at the threat they were facing and smiled as he walked up to him. "Doesn't sound like you need me anymore. Sonny says you've got it taken care of."

"That's not true," Jacob said. "I always need someone to race."

"Maybe later," Sonny said. "I need you boys to get cleaned and ready to stack crates. Miller should be here soon for the produce."

Jacob sighed theatrically but made for the house with a smile followed by his friends.

"Looks like he's doing well," Sam said.

"He is. His brother makes it over at least once a week to see him, and Jacob's knuckling down and working hard the rest of the time. He's a good kid."

"Yeah," Sam said. "He is." He hesitated before asking, "Robin, she's Dean's old girlfriend, isn't she?"

Sonny looked confused. "He never told you about her?"

"He did once, I think, but I wasn't exactly receptive at the time. And we don't talk about those years so much."

"Yeah, they were together a couple years, broke up when Dean was in college—long distance was too much of a strain. But…" He sighed. "Dean gives me a lot of credit for taking care of him when he was here, but Robin deserves just as much. She gave Dean something good in his life when he didn't have you."

"If I could've been here, I would," Sam said quickly.

"I know," Sonny said, raising his hands in front of him. "I just mean that Robin did her part, too. Dean needed her as much as he did me."

"I owe her," Sam said.

"Yes, I suppose you do." He clapped Sam on the shoulder. "Bringing her husband home would be a good way to repay her."

Sam nodded. "I'll do my best."

* * *

Robin insisted on keeping her schedule, giving the kids their guitar lessons, even though Justin was missing. Dean guessed it gave her something else to focus on than her desperation.

He and Sam sat at the kitchen table with the laptop open and their cell phones beside it. Sam was working his way through the local PD firewall to get to their records on the disappearances, and Castiel was out physically searching the town for a sign of the missing people.

The sounds of someone running chords drifted to them from the lounge along with Robin's voice, soft and patient, making occasional corrections. Dean let his mind drift back through the years to their many days spent sitting on Sonny's porch with Robin playing just for him. She had taught him some, but he'd always preferred to listen to her. She was the talented one. He felt a pang of sadness as he remembered those days and thought of what might have been, but then he looked across the table at Sam, brow furrowed as he worked to save more lives, and he knew he had the better life now.

There was a rustle and Sam looked up from the screen to Castiel. "Anything?" he asked hopefully.

"No," Castiel said. "I have searched the town, but there is no sign of your friend's husband or any other man being held captive." His mouth pressed into a thin line. "Well, there was one man bound and gagged, but it was in a bedroom and I believe he was consenting."

Sam snorted. "Thanks anyway, Cas."

"Does that mean they're not in town at all?" Dean asked.

"Perhaps not," Castiel said. "There are wards to hide places and things from angels and others; it's widely known that we now walk the earth again, so whoever or whatever has these men could be utilizing them the way Culpa did."

Sam turned back to the computer and hit a key. "I'm in." Dean moved around the table to peer over his shoulder as Sam read down the page. "It looks like they're treating each disappearance as a separate case," he said. "Dumbasses. Justin is the only suspected crime, because of the blood. The others are believed to have left of their own accord."

"Seriously?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded and made a few more clicks. "The working theory is that Justin was snatched in some kind of ransom driven kidnapping—which makes so much sense because they've not demanded ransom."

"Nor do kidnappers bless towns with bountiful harvests," Castiel said.

"Exactly," Sam said. "There's definitely something strange going on that's got nothing to do with money, but I wonder what it is…"

"What happened with the other men?" Dean asked.

Sam scrolled down. "Okay, victim one: Brian Keller, was out drinking with his girlfriend. He went to the bathroom and never came back. Cops think he slipped out back and took off, even though his car was still there. Victim two, Hayden, was last seen by his daughter in his home. She said he went into the kitchen to make popcorn, but when she went in after him, he was gone. Victim three, Mark, left for work and never arrived. And the last one is Justin."

"Anything between them in common?" Dean asked.

Sam frowned. "They're all around the same age, but that's it. Some have children, but others don't. All but one was married. That's all they've got here. I guess if there's anything else, Robin would know."

"Let's leave her alone a little longer," Dean said. "She's busy."

Sam nodded without commenting for which Dean was grateful.

"I'm not sure what else to do now though," he admitted. "There are dozens of possible gods, and they've all got their own MO and place they'd like to hide up."

At that moment, the strains of the guitar ended. After a moment, Robin came into the room with the guitar case in her hand. She looked hopeful, and Dean hated to break that hope, but he had nothing to offer so he distracted. "Good lesson?"

"Pretty good," she said with a small smile. "Lewis is getting better each time." She raised her case slightly. "I'm going to have to get back to the diner now. Mae is taking care of it for me, but she's not as young as she used to be."

"Mae's still working?" Dean asked, remembering the woman who had seemed ancient even when he was sixteen. She had been kind, though, and had always given Dean extra portions even before he and Robin were an item.

"I don't think she'll ever stop." She glanced at the laptop. "Is there anything?"

"We're just waiting on a call from an expert," Sam said.

Robin smiled. "That's great. Sonny has my number if anything comes up."

Sam nodded. "We'll call as soon as we know anything."

Robin looked reluctant even as she said, "I'll see you then."

Dean got to his feet. "I'll take you back to the diner." He plucked the guitar case out of her hand and smiled at her. "Okay?"

"I drove here," she said.

"Then I'll walk back after," Dean said. "It's not that far."

"I'd like that," she said softly.

"Call me?" Dean asked Sam, and he nodded.

Dean followed her out of the house to a recent model Nissan. She opened the trunk and Dean set down the guitar.

"You want me to drive?" he asked.

"You think you can handle it?" she asked. "It's no 67 Impala."

Dean smiled and caught the keys she tossed him. "I'll manage."

They climbed in and Dean was on the track out of Sonny's place when she spoke again. "I read about you in the newspaper. They said you were in town working on the rebuild."

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you come and see me?" she asked quietly.

"Because I was messed up, Robin," he said. "Things happened, Sam wasn't here, and I was a wreck. You wouldn't have wanted to see me."

"I would. I could have helped you."

Dean shook his head briskly. "No one could have done that. Anyway, I'm here now, and I'm going to get Justin back for you."

She leaned back in her seat and Dean glanced at her. Her hand was resting on her abdomen, stroking small circles.

"Oh," he said. "When are you…"

She looked down and seemed to see where her hand lay for the first time. "Not for months yet," she said. "I only found out a week ago." She bit her lip. "Justin doesn't know yet. I was planning this perfect way to tell him, and then… he was gone."

"Keep planning," Dean said firmly.

They drove along in silence a little longer, and Dean thought of the baby that would be there in a matter of months, a brand new life that needed its father. As much as seeing Robin's life now gave him a pang of what could have been, he knew he still had a part to play. He was going to return the father so Robin could have the life, the family, she deserved.

* * *

Sam was on the phone with Ash, discussing the bumper overnight harvest while Ash checked for a history of it happening, when the kitchen door flew open and Sonny rushed in followed by Robin.

Sam flew to his feet. "What?"

"Now, stay calm," Sonny said. "It's going to be okay."

"What's happened?" Sam demanded.

"Dean's gone," Robin said tearfully. "She took him."

"Who took him?" Castiel asked, stepping away from the wall where he had been standing.

"A woman. We'd just gotten to the diner and she appeared out of nowhere. She said something about Dean being just what she needed and then… I must have blacked out because I don't see how else it could have happened, but they were gone. Dean was gone."

A shard of ice pierced Sam's heart, freezing him from within. He felt the prickle moving through him, making him cold and calm in that detached, hunter way that he hadn't for a long time. It was like stepping into an old pair of shoes, comfortable and right, even though he would be the only person who thought so. Everyone who knew him would despair.

"What did she look like?" he asked calmly.

Robin shook her head quickly. "I don't know."

"Think!" he commanded.

Sonny cast Sam a reproachful look and wrapped his arm around Robin's shoulders. "Try," he said gently.

Robin closed her eyes for a moment and Sam bit down on a curse. He needed the witness calm and thinking not scared, even though he wanted to rage at her for being the one left behind.

"She was beautiful," Robin said. "So beautiful it almost hurt. Her hair was long and red, and she was pale like ivory. She had an accent; it was… Irish maybe?"

Castiel looked at Sam. "Irish?"

"Goddess," Sam said, following the train of thought Robin had triggered.

"Goddess!" Robin squeaked.

Sam ignored her. "How many Irish goddesses are there, Cas?"

"In excess of thirty documented," he replied.

Sam blew out a breath. "Any way to narrow it down?"

"Not without more information."

Sam rounded on Robin. ""Can you think of _anything_ else that can help us?"

"I'm sorry," she said plaintively. "I can't think of anything."

Sam turned away from her. His mind broke it down into facts. Dean was taken. A goddess had him. They didn't know which one. They didn't know where he was being held. They needed help.

"Gabriel!" he shouted.

"Sam, I don't know if that's a good…" Castiel started, but trailed off as the sound of an angel's arrival whipped through the room—louder than Castiel's subtle rustle.

"What the…?" Robin whispered. No one answered.

Gabriel spun on his heel, took in the room and scowled. "Winchester, in a good mood I see. To what do I owe the summons?"

"Dean's been taken," Sam said.

"Ah, that explains the mood reboot to apocalypse standards."

"Apocalypse!" Robin blanched.

"Don't fret," Gabriel said. "It's been and gone. Sammy here saved the world. Say thank you."

"This is not helping, Gabriel," Castiel said.

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "Really, Castiel? You're going to try to pull that with me?"

"Enough!" Sam shouted, silencing the room and making Gabriel's smile disappear. "Dean has been taken! Help or go away."

"I could leave, you know." Gabriel said.

"And I could step away from the Crowley fight," Sam said. "If something happens to Dean, that's what I'll do. You want our help for that, you help us now."

"Because you have been so helpful up to this point," Gabriel said scathingly.

Sam's voice rose. "Tell me what to do and I'll do it!"

"Blood," Gabriel replied quickly.

Sam winced internally but answered calmly. "If that's what it takes, I'll do it."

"No, Sam!" Castiel said harshly.

Sam held up a hand to silence him. "Will you help us get him back?" he asked Gabriel.

Gabriel narrowed his eyes for a moment, seeming to test Sam's honesty. He shouldn't doubt it. Sam would do whatever it took to get Dean back, and if that meant a deal with an archangel and going back on the blood, Sam would do it.

"I will," Gabriel said, clapping his hands together. "So, what do we know?"

Castiel answered. "We believe it is an Irish Goddess. She took four men before Dean. One of them was Robin's husband." He gestured to the pale and sweaty woman tucked under Sonny's arm.

Gabriel nodded thoughtfully. "Sorry to hear it."

Robin nodded. "Uh, thanks… Who are you?"

"This is Gabriel," Castiel said. "The archangel."

"Seriously?"

Castiel nodded soberly.

Robin turned to Sonny and asked, "Is this really happening? It's not a bad dream or something?"

Sonny looked sadly at her. "I'm afraid it's real."

"Cas, do the wing thing," Sam said.

Castiel looked doubtful. "I don't know if that's a good idea…"

Gabriel sighed. "We don't have time for this." He straightened his back and the shadows of enormous wings spread across the wall behind him. They were huge, much bigger than Uriel's had been. Sam was awed in spite of himself and he wondered how something so massive could have been contained in his human body as Lucifer had been.

"See? Angel," Gabriel said, pointing at Castiel. "Him too."

Robin moaned weakly and swayed slightly.

"So," Gabriel said. "Let's get to business. I'm assuming you've done a sweep of town, Castiel?"

"Yes," Castiel said. "I searched everywhere. There was no sign, though she might have used wards."

"Or she might be outside the immediate area." Gabriel's mouth pressed into a thin line. "I think we're going to have to tap into my pagan roots for this. I need some blood," he said thoughtfully.

Sam pulled the switchblade from his pocket and cut across his hand. Blood flowed and welled in his palm.

"Good of you to step up to the plate, Sam," Gabriel said scathingly, "but I need actual familial blood to trace back to."

"Dean's my brother," Sam said.

"Is that what they told you?" Gabriel said in a stunned voice. "I'm sorry, Sammy, but—" He laughed even as Sam's heart failed. "I'm just screwing with you. He is your brother but I need a direct bloodline. If your daddy was here, I could use him, but as we know, he's otherwise occupied right now being a prom dress for Michael."

Sam scowled at him but Gabriel missed it, turning to Robin. "I'm sorry to be insensitive, I know how you humans are touchy about things like this, but you're pregnant, yes?"

She nodded.

"And your husband is the father."

"Of course!" she said, a bite of anger in her voice.

"Sensitive much," Gabriel muttered and then said. "Good. Now, would you mind anteing up a little blood for us?"

"How's that going to help?" Sam asked. "She's not his blood."

"Calm your britches, Winchester. It's the baby's blood I need."

Robin paled and her hands moved to cover her abdomen. "What?"

"I can get it through yours," Gabriel said, not seeming to notice her panic. "In the eyes of magic it's one and the same. You share everything with your child. Your love, your breath, your blood. Kinda romantic, right?"

"Get on with it, Gabriel," Sam growled.

Gabriel tutted. "Fine. Okay. I need a few more ingredients. I'll be right back." He disappeared, leaving Sam standing useless.

"Say you can find them," Sonny said carefully. "How are you going to get them away from an actual goddess?"

"We kill her," Sam said brutally.

"You can do that?"

Sam glanced at Castiel who nodded.

"Yes," he said. "We've got the colt."

* * *

Pain reached Dean first. His head was aching as if it had taken a damn good hit. Before opening his eyes, he tested his surroundings with his other senses. It smelled musty and damp. There were soft sounds of breathing but no background sounds that gave him a clue to his whereabouts. His arms were stretched above him and something cold encircled his wrists, shackles he guessed.

He cracked his eyes open and looked around. The room he was held in was about the size of The Roadhouse bar. The walls were covered with peeling green wallpaper. The floorboards were dark with dirt. There were marks leading up to him where he'd been dragged along. There were four other men in the room that he recognized from the police files he'd seen of the missing persons. They were bloodied and bruised and their shirts were stained with dark spots of blood that seemed to have dripped from wounds on their throat. Two of them were sleeping or unconscious, but Justin and the man Dean thought was named Mark were awake. Justin was looking at him cautiously.

"You're Dean, right?" he asked.

Dean frowned. "Yeah. How did you know?"

"Robin has a newspaper clipping of you. I'm Justin, her husband."

"I know. I…" He trailed off.

"You what?" Justin asked.

"I came to save you," Dean said apologetically. "All of you."

Justin huffed a laugh. "Good job."

Dean looked around the room and, seeing no sign of the woman who had snatched him, said, "It's okay. I'm not alone. My brother will save us."

"I wish him luck," an accented woman's voice said.

Dean blinked and looked around, and he saw a woman's form shimmer and clear into a body standing by the door. She was beautiful, with pale skin and rich red hair. Justin and Mark winced at the sight of her.

"Who are you?" Dean asked. "Or should that be what?"

"Both," she said. "My name is Cliodhna, and I am hungry." She sauntered towards him and ran a finger over his throat. "You will be a feast." She licked her finger and moaned. "You're ripe with it."

"With what?" Dean asked, fighting down a shudder at the look in her eyes.

"Love," she said. "You positively overflow with it,"

"I'm not in love with anyone," Dean said to stall her. He had a feeling her hunger was going to win out and he was in no hurry to be dinner. If he could keep her talking long enough, he could maybe give Sam time to get to them.

"Not even the woman?" she asked.

Justin's head snapped up.

"No," Dean said. "I loved her once. But now she is my friend."

"Ah, but there are so many forms of love. Perhaps she is not the one, but there is someone that you will give it all for, isn't there? Maybe more than one?"

There were many, Dean thought, one more than any other.

"So you feed on love?" Dean asked.

"In simple human terms, yes," she said, leaning forward to bow her head at his neck. He could feel her breath against his skin for a moment before pain surged as teeth pierced him. He felt the draw of blood from the wound as she gulped him down. His head swam and he felt sick. It seemed to last forever but could only have been a minute before she pulled back and dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a finger. "Delicious."

"My brother will kill you for that," Dean snarled.

"A human?" she scoffed. "He can try."

"He's not just a human," Dean said darkly. "He's a Winchester."

She laughed. "I hope he's resourceful then. To kill me he will need a stake dipped in the blood of one of the faithful. They're hard to come by these days."

"I'll bet," Dean said. "Not many lunatics to revere broken down goddesses these days. That's why you're scrabbling around kidnapping people, right?"

"Not for long," she said. "The false God is gone, abandoning his children. The archangels aren't long for this world. Soon it will be our time again. We will rule and people will queue up for our blessings and pay with their lovelorn."

"And Crowley will let that happen," Dean said scathingly. "I know that dick. He won't share reverence with anyone. He'll wipe you out, too."

She quirked an eyebrow. "You might be right. I suppose I will have to make the most of the time I've got left then." She leaned into him again and her mouth closed around the wound on his throat. Dean closed his eyes and tried to cling to consciousness while she sucked at him. Just then there was a crash, a roar of anger, a gunshot, and mouth clasped to him fell away.

Dean eyes snapped open and he saw Sam standing by the doors, the colt held out in front of him with a smoking muzzle. Dean looked into his face and barely held back a groan. It wasn't Sam; at least it wasn't the Sam he'd spent the last months with. His face was closed off and neutral, and his eyes were dark. Gabriel and Castiel were with him and they darted to the men shackled to the walls, breaking their chains with their hands as if they were made of wet tissue paper.

"Sammy," Dean said, trying to connect with his brother in some way.

Sam lowered the gun and his eyes drifted down to the body of Cliodhna. She was not beautiful in death. Her skin was shriveled over her bones as if she had been dead long years instead of a matter of seconds. Sam walked forward and kicked her aside, then turned over his shoulder to Castiel and snapped his name. Castiel came quickly and broke Dean's chains. Sam was still expressionless though, held back by his closed emotions.

Dean did the only thing he could think to do. He dragged Sam into a hug and clung to him until Sam's arms moved from lax at his sides and held Dean in return. Dean felt him exhale a long breath and grip Dean harder. They stayed like that for a moment while movement happened around them, questions were answered and reassurances were given, and then Dean stepped back. He looked hopefully into Sam's eyes and saw the return of the brother he knew. He was concerned and himself again. "You okay?" he asked fervently.

"I'm fine," Dean said. "It's fine."

Sam nodded, closed his eyes, and whispered, "Thank God."

* * *

Robin and Justin's reunion was heartfelt and full of the same relief Sam felt at Dean's return. They clung to each other and tears streaked down Robin's face. Sam felt some guilt for shutting down on her when she'd needed reassurance and care, but he knew it had been necessary to save himself. He could handle much in life, but not losing Dean, and the only defense he had for that was the mask Dean so hated.

Robin slowly extricated herself from her husband so Castiel could heal his wounded neck as he already had Dean's. Robin caught Sam's eye where he stood beside Dean. She walked towards them and threw her arms around Dean. He held her tightly for a moment, whispering something that Sam couldn't hear, then he released her and she turned her attention to Sam.

"Thank you," she said fervently, "for saving Justin."

Sam smiled slightly. "It's what we do."

She laughed softly. "I guess it is. You're really good at it."

"No one better," Dean said proudly.

"We should get out of here," Sam said. "The cops will be here soon and I don't want to have to make up something for them."

"What do they tell them?" Robin asked, looking at the men who stood around the room still seeming a bit dazed.

"Whatever they need to say," Dean said. "I'd advise against the truth though."

She nodded seriously. "Me too." She looked at Dean and said, "Can I talk to your brother for a minute?"

"Of course," Dean said. "I'll go say goodbye to Sonny." He wandered away, leaving Sam and her alone.

She bit her lip and Sam spoke before she could. "I'm sorry I was such a dick back there. It's just with Dean on the line…"

"I understand," she said. "He's your brother."

"Yes." He hesitated as Castiel appeared at her elbow, his pointed look making it clear it was time for them to leave. "Robin," he said. "Have a great life. Take that child and love them like nothing else. Never let them be left behind."

She looked sad. "Never," she said. "And you. Never let Dean be left behind again."

"I won't," Sam said, but he had to wonder, with the deal he'd made with Gabriel, whether that would be something he could control in the future.

* * *

 **So… We had a peek into Dean's past, and Sam slipped back a few steps on the emotional progression road. Thankfully, Dean made it all better.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	15. Chapter 15

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for being the best beta a girl could ask for. Thank you also Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for being awesome pre-readers and support system.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Fifteen**_

Castiel and Joshua were walking in Heaven's garden together. Every so often, Joshua would stop and brush his hand against a leaf or cup the bloom of a flower in his hand. They seemed to become much more beautiful after each touch of grace. Castiel didn't touch the flowers. This was not his place; it belonged to God and Joshua. He was just appreciative of the fact he was allowed to visit the private angel.

"There have been more attacks," Castiel said.

"Yes," Joshua agreed. "There are fewer voices than ever before."

"I feel their loss."

"We all do, Castiel."

Castiel nodded, but at the same time he wondered. He felt the loss more sharply, he believed, because of his sojourn among humanity. He had changed more than an angel should be capable of. He understood the bonds of family and love, and though they were not as strong to most of his angelic family than what he felt for the Winchesters, he loved his heavenly family, too. Angels for the most part were warriors, and that didn't lend itself to developing familial bonds of affection. He thought he was the first angel that truly knew what it meant to love outside of what he felt for his Father.

Suddenly, Castiel's wings at his back prickled and he drew them in close. An archangel was approaching; he could feel his unfettered power. He didn't hope for one in particular. Raphael held no more favor for him than Michael. They had both happily ended his life at one time or another.

Seeing his disquiet, Joshua's wings stretched slightly and brushed against Castiel's the way his hands had the leaves. Castiel thought perhaps Joshua saw him as being as delicate at the flowers.

"Joshua," Michael's deep voice called in Enochian.

Castiel could have imagined it, but he thought he saw a flicker of annoyance cross Joshua's features.

"We are here, Michael," he said.

Michael strode towards them. In heaven he was unrestrained by his human vessel, so Castiel was not looking into the face of John Winchester but into the towering vastness of his greatest brother. Michael looked down at Castiel and a sneer twisted his face but he didn't comment on his presence. He turned to Joshua and said, "I need to speak with you."

"What can I do for you?" Joshua asked serenely.

"Bethiah and Inias are missing. Their voices are no longer heard and their presence cannot be felt."

Castiel winced. Bethiah was his friend and part of his garrison before the war. She had been taken as one of Michael's commanders though, and as such had severed ties with Castiel.

Joshua nodded. "I am sorry to hear it."

"Why were they on Earth?" Castiel asked.

Michael didn't even spare him a glance let alone answer him. "You're sorry? Is that all you have to say to me?"

"What else would you like me to say?" Joshua asked.

Michael stiffened as he said, "I would like guidance."

Joshua sighed. "I am sorry, Michael, but I can only speak for myself."

"He gives me nothing!" Michael snapped, and a dark shadow settled over the garden like an approaching storm.

"He gives none of us anything," Joshua said sympathetically. "He has not spoken in a long time."

Castiel glanced at him. He did not know God had forsaken them completely now, not even communicating with Joshua anymore. He must truly be done with His creation now.

Michael stiffened. "How long?"

"Not since you met Lucifer on the battlefield. I am sorry, Michael, but I cannot help you. You must guide yourself."

Michael turned on his heel and marched away through the flowerbeds, crushing flowers and plants as he went. Joshua watched him go, looking forlorn. When they were alone again, Joshua bent and picked up the crushed head of a lotus flower and held in his hand. It did not flare with life at the touch of grace. When it had been severed from its root, it had become irreparable. Much like Michael had become without his Father to guide him.

Joshua traced a finger over the bloom and then set it down and straightened.

"He has truly abandoned us," Castiel said sadly.

Joshua looked away into the distance for a moment and then he said in a whisper, "No. He has not abandoned us all, but He will no more rouse himself for this fight than He did the end of times. I cannot tell Michael that; he will kill me for bearing the message."

"Our Father still speaks?" Castiel asked.

"He speaks," Joshua confirmed. "But He does not advise. He may not have abandoned us completely, but He does not help. That part of Him sleeps now."

Castiel looked down at the ruined flowers and for a moment felt their despair. Something bigger and stronger had come and destroyed them. If they didn't stop Crowley, that was perhaps what would become of humanity, too.

* * *

Castiel set himself down in the yard behind The Roadhouse and drew his wings in at his back. It was evening, and there were many cars in the parking lot. The Impala wasn't among them, though, which meant one or both of the brothers were absent. Probably both. They usually stayed together.

Castiel was disappointed not to find them home, but he thought he could find where they were from Ellen. She usually knew what was happening with them. He let himself into the kitchen through the back door, startling Ash who was making coffee at the counter.

"Oh! Hey, Cas," he said. "Coffee?"

Castiel just stared at him.

"No, I guess not," Ash amended. "Sam and Dean aren't here at the moment."

"I surmised that," Castiel said. "Where are they?"

"Hunting a…" He tapped his chin. "Nope. Can't remember. They're somewhere hunting a something though."

"Thank you," Castiel said politely.

"No problem," Ash said cheerfully.

Castiel walked through the hall into the bar. Most of the tables were filled, and some people looked up as he entered. Most of them were hunters he had seen before, but there was a young family in one corner that Castiel guessed were taking a break from the road for a while. The hunters in the room looked up automatically at his entry. Some of them watched, brows furrowed with unease and others stared openly and curiously at him. He was known to them all as the Winchesters' angel. He didn't mind the name or assumption that he belonged to them like a pet. They didn't understand the relationship between him and the brothers, and that was okay—it wasn't their place to understand. It only mattered that Sam and Dean did, and they called him family.

Ellen looked up, too, and a shadow of worry flashed across her features before she schooled it into calm. She finished serving the woman who was in front of her, took the money, and then moved along the bar to Castiel.

"Hey, Cas," she said. "Everything okay?"

"I think so," Castiel said. "I was looking for Sam and Dean."

"Oh." She breathed a short sigh of relief. "They're in Iowa right now, small place called Hancock. You need them?"

"No, I just wanted to see them," he said. "What are they doing there?"

"Chupacabra."

Castiel nodded. "Another hunt."

"It's what they do," she said proudly but not without a little worry.

"It is, for now," Castiel said.

She smiled widely. "Yeah. Won't be much longer."

"You're excited for them to leave the life?" Castiel asked. He hadn't spoken to them or her about their plans. It made sense to him that she would be though. They had given a lot to the fight. Their lives even. They deserved their futures.

"More than excited," she said fervently. "They've earned this, and I know how much they want it. Sam has wanted it forever." She eyed him curiously. "What about you? What do you think?"

"I think it is time for them to have what they want." He was thinking of Hell and what he had seen there: Dean standing over the rack with the razor in his hand—the absolute defeat in his eyes—and Sam's fingers curled around the edge of the bars. They had both suffered more than humanity ever should, and this was their reward.

"Agreed," Ellen said, turning away for a moment to fetch a beer for a hunter waiting impatiently beside Castiel.

When she came back to him he asked, "Where is Jo?"

"She's teamed up with Isaac and Tamara for what sounds like a demon in Florida."

"Wouldn't Sam be more suited to a demon hunt?" Castiel asked.

Ellen grimaced. "He would. Isaac and Tamara don't know about his… skills though, and they came to us with the case when Sam was already out of town. She'll be okay. Much as I hate it, Jo's a good hunter."

Castiel nodded. "Sam and Dean say the same thing. I believe Sam is proud of his sister for what she has become."

Ellen laughed softly. "He'll never tell _her_ that. He spent years steering her away from the life. I see now that it wasn't just about keeping her safe; it was about her having the life she deserves and that he wanted for himself."

"The life he will soon have."

She smiled again. "Yeah, soon."

Another hunter came to the bar and tapped his wallet on the counter. Ellen rolled her eyes and asked, "You sticking around or going to find the boys?"

"I will find them."

Ellen nodded. "Okay. Tell them to get their asses home soon."

"I will," Castiel said, smiling at her rough words that were tempered with love. He spread his wings at his back and took flight.

* * *

It was easy to find the Winchesters once he knew the town. He had barely arrived in the town limits when his eyes picked out the sleek black paint of the Impala a few miles away. As he drew closer, he saw one more in a long line of motel rooms for the brothers. He heard laughter before he set himself down. Sam's full, throaty laugh and Dean's huffs of frustration over the running of a shower.

At his arrival, Sam's laughter tapered off and he looked up and shouted, "Hey, Dean, Cas is here. Come out and say hello."

"Screw you," Dean shouted through the closed bathroom door.

Sam burst into laughter again.

"Is he okay?" Castiel asked, not unduly concerned as Sam was at ease and if something had happened to Dean he would be stressed, as proven by the recent encounter with Cliodhna.

"He's fine," Sam said, wiping at his eyes. "The Chupacabra got a lucky strike in and sent Dean face first into the mud. He's a mess."

Castiel smiled. "I see."

The sounds of the shower shut off and after a few minutes, Dean came back into the room, dressed in clean jeans but bare-chested. "Oh, hey, Cas," he said. "I thought Sam was screwing around again."

"Hello, Dean."

Sam snickered quietly and said, "So, Cas, are you here as a messenger of impending doom?"

"No. This is merely a visit."

"Awesome," Sam said, pulling out the chair beside him and saying, "Sit down then."

Dean pulled on a shirt and sat on the edge of the bed. "What have you been doing?"

"I came from The Roadhouse," he said. "Everything is fine," he added, seeing the question in Sam's eyes.

Sam nodded his gratitude.

"Before that, I was in Heaven."

"And how are things there?" Sam asked.

Castiel sighed. "I saw Michael."

Sam's expression darkened at the mention of the archangel. "Yeah? What's the uber dick doing?"

"Ignoring me," Castiel said, not without a twinge of shame.

"That's mature," Dean said.

"He will not accept my presence willingly. When we are forced into contact, he acts as if I am not there."

"What forced you together today?" Sam asked. "Trouble?"

"In a way. More angels are being taken. I was with Joshua, and Michael came seeking guidance."

"He takes guidance from Joshua?" Dean asked. "I thought Michael was the big boss up there."

Castiel wondered how to explain the echelons of Heaven to them. Technically, even Zachariah outranked Joshua, but he would never act on that superiority knowing Joshua's unique position as their Father's chosen for speech, as Michael would not.

"He is, but Joshua has a special position in Heaven," Castiel said. "Michael was seeking guidance from our Father through Joshua."

"Did he get it?" Sam asked.

"No. Joshua told Michael He has ceased to speak, which was a lie, but He will not advise or intervene for this fight."

"Just like the apocalypse," Sam said scathingly. "Dick."

"He intervened at the end," Castiel said. "He brought me back."

"And we're damn grateful for it," Sam said.

"But He didn't stretch Himself much apart from that. He didn't stop Sam having to…" Dean trailed off, a dark look in his eyes.

"It's over now," Sam said, catching his brother's eye.

Dean nodded, though he didn't look comforted. Castiel knew that year without his brother was a trial Dean was never going to forgive God for, not knowing where he had been and what he had suffered.

"So Michael's looking for help," Sam said in a musing tone. "Guess he's got as many ideas for dealing with Crowley as we have. Good to know he's just as screwed as us."

"Even more really," Dean said. "We've got Death helping us. Michael is alone."

"Remind me to give a crap about that later," Sam said.

"He's scared," Castiel said. "He had confidence that the battle with Lucifer would end with his victory, as that was how it had been written, but there is no guidance or reassurance for Crowley's threat."

"A scared archangel," Sam said. "Damn."

Dean seemed to sense his brother's mood darkening, and he changed the subject. "Sam tell you he's got another college interview?" he asked proudly. "University of Nebraska. My alma mater."

"That's wonderful news, Sam." Castiel said.

Sam's dark expression morphed into a smile. "Thanks, Cas. Here's hoping there's no crazy witch to take out the professor this time."

"The odds are vastly against that happening again," Castiel said.

Sam laughed softly. "Good to know."

"It'll be great," Dean said happily. "We'll be close to The Roadhouse, so Ellen will be pleased, too."

"It all seems to be coming together," Castiel said.

"Yeah." Sam sounded a little doubtful still. Castiel thought that it would take the moment of him walking onto campus on his first day for him to believe it was really going to happen.

"We're looking into scholarships, too," Dean said. "There are a few that are designed…"

Dean's words faded as a new voice swept through his mind. It was Anna's voice and she was terrified. _"Castiel, help me! Please, brother, help me! Someone help me!"_

Castiel's wings flew out at his back. In a split second, he was in flight, his grace reaching out to find the source of the cry, in another he was above a dark field and taking in the scene beneath him. Anna was cowering at the foot of a tree, a female Reaper looming over her and holding a small vial to her throat. Even as Castiel landed behind her, the last of the grace seeped from Anna's wound and into the vial.

"Stop!" Castiel shouted, his true voice bleeding through.

The Reaper turned and laughed. "Castiel. This is too good."

Castiel's blade slipped into his hand and he drew it up, but she was already countering him. She had an angel blade of her own. She flashed it out and jabbed at Castiel's chest. He stepped back and parried the blow, but she was strong and quick. She pulled her arm back, drawing from the parry and started to circle him.

"I've been hoping to meet the infamous Castiel," she said. "I've heard so much about you and you weren't around last time I made a visit. Shame really. You might have had a chance at saving him."

"Saving who?" Castiel asked, wondering which of his brothers had been lost without his notice or help.

"Sam Winchester, of course," she said smugly.

Oh. That brother "You're Billie! You sent Sam to The Empty."

"I did. How'd he like it?" She still circled him, testing his defenses continually with jabs of her blade.

"He is free," Castiel said.

"Yeah, I heard the big boss swooped in and saved him," she said. "Quite the character, Death, isn't he? Stuffed with tradition and so fond of respect. I can't tell you how pleased I am to be free of him."

Castiel struck out, and the tip of his blade snagged in the leather of her jacket. It didn't seem to wound her, and he struggled to free it. His capitulation lasted only seconds, but it was enough for her to act. She smiled as she thrust the blade into his extended arm, making him drop his sword. It freed itself from her jacket and dropped to the grass. Castiel stepped back, hands raised in an automatic show of surrender.

"You crying uncle, angel?" she asked, her tone amused. "I don't think so."

Castiel dropped to get to his blade. His fingers were an inch from it when he felt the cool metal at his throat.

"Gabriel!" Castiel shouted even as the tip of the blade sliced across his Adam's apple, drawing blood and something blue-white he was never supposed to lose: his grace. He fell back boneless to the ground and she crouched beside him. He watched his grace ebbing and flowing into the glass vial as if it was drawn by a magnet.

"I'm going straight to the top with this one," she said conversationally.

Castiel moaned. "Stop!"

"Like you would have?" she asked. "You would have killed me if you could. I am just taking the spoils. It's a tradition of war after all."

She plugged the vial with a small cork and straightened. "Well, it was nice meeting you, Castiel. It's almost a shame I have to kill you really."

She pressed the blade against his breastbone and smiled. "See you in Hell."

"Stop!" a voice boomed. It pressed in on Castiel's eardrums painfully and he brought his hands up to cover his ears. He looked around and saw Gabriel standing a few feet from him.

Billie seemed frozen in place for a moment and then she disappeared without a sound.

"Gabriel," Castiel said weakly. "What…?"

"Well, look at you," Gabriel said. "What a mess."

Castiel's vision swam and he blinked rapidly, trying to clear it.

Gabriel grabbed his hand and hefted him to his feet. "Up you get," he said. "Take a deep breath. You won't pass out."

"I'm…" Castiel couldn't force out the words.

"All kinds of screwed," Gabriel said, and then he stiffened. Castiel searched for what had troubled him, but he felt deaf and blind. The senses he had were dull and stunted in comparison to what he had before.

Then a voice spoke, a voice he knew well and that froze his bones with fear—John Winchester's deep tones tempered with grace.

"Gabriel?"

Gabriel seemed to have to drag his eyes up to look at Michael where he stood at the edge of the field. "Oh crap," he groaned.

Castiel looked from brother to brother, seeing the shock in one and the defeat in the other. Then Gabriel smiled enigmatically and said, "Maybe later."

Castiel felt the lurch in his stomach and rush of vertigo as he was swept away under the power of another's wings.

* * *

 **So… That happened. I knew this was going to happen from the outset of this story, I didn't realize how tough it would be to write though.**

 **Also… How awesome was First Blood? Wow. I have no words. It made me fall in love with the season, the show and the boys all over again.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	16. Chapter 16

**Thank you Jenjoremy for being the best beta and SandraEngstrom2 and Gredelina1 for being awesome pre-readers.**

 **Thank you all for supporting the story.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Sixteen**_

Castiel was relieved to see Anna at his side when they arrived in Bobby Singer's library. The man himself wasn't too pleased to see them though. He slopped coffee down his front and cursed at them.

"Damn angels! Can't you learn to knock?" he asked angrily, wiping at his damp shirt.

"Sorry, I was in a hurry to escape the murderous archangel and to get these two somewhere safe before they bled out," Gabriel said.

He turned to Castiel and ran a hand over his throat. Castiel felt the burn as his skin pulled together and healed. He had never considered the fact it might hurt humans to be healed, though it made sense now. He felt wetness on his cheek and he traced it with a finger, and then brought it up to look at. There was a perfect pearl of a tear on the tip of his finger. The first he had shed, despite years of pain and sadness. He had not been able to cry for Sam after his plunge into the cage, but he could now cry for his own plunge into humanity.

"Castiel," Anna said gently. "Are you okay?"

"No," Castiel said mournfully. "I am not."

Her warm hand slipped into his and she squeezed his fingers.

"What the hell's going on?" Bobby asked.

"We need your panic room," Gabriel said quickly. "Shit's hitting the fan and they need to be safe."

"Why do a couple angels need my panic room?" Bobby asked. "And why's Cas crying?" He softened his voice very slightly and addressed Castiel. "What's happened to you?"

"They're not angels anymore," Gabriel said. "They're human. Both of them."

"How the hell did that happen?" Bobby asked.

"They were attacked by a Reaper."

Castiel nodded sadly.

"I am so sorry, Castiel," Anna said. "I shouldn't have called."

Castiel shook his head and squeezed her hand. "I am glad you did. It would have cost your life had you not."

"Panic room!" Gabriel said urgently.

"Of course," Bobby said.

"We're going to need to redecorate a little, too," Gabriel said. "They need to protect it from angels. Sigils."

Bobby nodded. "Go ahead. It's not like I'm attached to the décor."

Castiel followed Gabriel down to the basement and into the panic room. He felt so strange. Movement was automatic but he _felt_ it all so differently now. His muscles bunching and relaxing, his breath moving in and out of his lungs, the lightness at his back where there had been the weight of wings before. Another tear slipped down his cheek and he cursed his weakness.

When they got into the panic room, Gabriel rooted through a steel cabinet and pulled out two cans of spray-paint. He handed them over and exited the room, saying, "Whatever you can think of that will help. One of you get bleeding, too. We need banishing sigils ready to go."

Castiel took a knife from a rack on the wall and cut across his palm. He fisted his hand to make the blood run and then daubed the sigil on the wall across from the door. Beside him Anna was drawing sigils to protect them from angel sight.

"Perhaps you should carve their ribs, too," Bobby suggested. "That's how Cas protected us."

"Good idea," Gabriel said. "Line up little people."

Castiel and Anna moved to the door where he stood and he laid a hand on each of their chests. Pain shot through Castiel; it felt as if every rib was breaking and being healed at once. He flinched back and Gabriel nodded. "Smarts a bit, I imagine."

"Thank you, Gabriel," Castiel said sincerely.

Gabriel nodded and peered through the door at the sigils they had prepared. "Looking good. You keep going and I'll make a Winchester run."

"Sam and Dean?" Castiel asked.

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "Well I certainly don't mean their father. I am keeping well away from that dick and the one that's riding him, thank you, especially as my cover has been blown and he knows I'm still kicking." He tapped his chin. "Might have to ante up the vessel to keep him off my trail." He shook his head. "First things first. Let's get some backup."

"But…" Castiel hesitated. He wasn't sure what to say; he wasn't even entirely sure of what he was feeling, but he knew he didn't want to see Sam and Dean when he was this—human. He was ashamed of having been bested by the Reaper.

"But what?" Bobby asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Nothing," Castiel said, not wanting to admit his fear to the room.

Bobby narrowed his eyes. "You worried about what they'll say, maybe?"

Castiel didn't answer and Gabriel sighed dramatically. "Don't worry, Castiel. Dean will probably wring his hands a little, Sam will swear vengeance, and then they'll go and kill something. They'll be handy to have around even."

"Besides," Bobby said with satisfaction. "I've already called them. They'll he here in an hour or so."

Castiel smiled, as if the news was a relief to him, but inside he quailed.

"They will understand, Castiel," Anna said softly. "And they will help."

Castiel nodded. He knew they would help, but would they truly understand?

* * *

"Tell me again," Sam said in a strained tone. "What exactly did Bobby say?"

"Just that Cas was there and we had to come," Dean replied. He didn't mention the stress that had been in Bobby's voice. They were both already worried enough.

When Castiel had disappeared, they'd waited for word. They hadn't prayed, as there had to be a reason he'd left so suddenly, and they didn't want to be chattering in his head if he needed to concentrate. But they had both been worried. Then Bobby's call had come through and given them some direction.

Dean was worried Castiel was hurt. Why else would he have gone to Bobby's instead of back to them? Their only theory of what had called Castiel away was another angel had called for help as had happened at least once before. Had a Reaper hurt their friend?

Sam cursed quietly and stepped a little harder on the gas as they raced along the I-90. Thankfully, it was late, and the road wasn't that busy, so they could build their speed, though if they came across a cop, they were toast.

"Cas is strong," Dean said reassuringly.

"So are Reapers," Sam replied bitterly.

They fell into a prickly silence that was punctuated by Dean's hands tapping nervously on his knees.

They reached Sioux Falls around midnight, and though Sam had to slow on the roads surrounding the town, they soon reached Bobby's place on the outskirts. Dean saw Sam had cut the drive time down considerably from what it should have been.

Lights were burning in Bobby's windows and the door was unlocked. Dean let them in and walked straight into the library, calling Bobby's name. The man himself was nowhere to be seen, but Dean's calls of his name were returned from the basement. "Down here, Dean."

Sam and Dean exchanged a worried glance and made their way through the hall and down the stairs to the basement. Bobby was standing in the door to the panic room. He looked tense and his eyes settled on Sam for a long time, looking thoughtful.

"What's happened?" Sam asked.

In lieu of an answer, Bobby gestured them inside. Sam strode past him into the panic room, and Dean heard him suck in a breath. "Anna?"

Dean followed him in and saw the angel sitting on the cot by the wall. She was pale and scared looking, and the collar of her white shirt was bloodied.

"Hey, Sam," she said sadly. "Dean."

Dean's attention turned to Castiel. He was facing away from them, seemingly absorbed in the picture of Bo Derek Bobby had tacked up on the wall.

"Cas?" Dean said tentatively.

Castiel turned slowly to face them, and Dean quickly took in his appearance. His expression was sad, almost apologetic, and there was a bloody stain on his collar. He had one hand cupped in the other against his stomach, and there was a wound on it as if he had cut across his palm. Most shocking of all were the tears that trailed down his cheeks. Dean was pretty sure angels didn't cry. Humans did.

"Hello, Dean," he said sadly.

"Cas… What happened?"

"I lost it," Castiel said, "My grace."

While Dean stood stunned, looking at Castiel, Sam moved wordlessly to the cabinet and pulled out the first aid kit. He rooted through it and found a roll of bandage and gauze. Dean watched as he took Castiel's shoulder and led him gently over to the cot and guided him to sit down beside Anna. Castiel stared into his face as if he was some new fearful creature, seeming stunned by the gentleness Sam was showing to him.

Sam pulled a chair around and sat in front of Castiel, then eased his wounded hand onto his lap. He probed the side of the wound and said, "I'm guessing the blood was for the sigil?"

Castiel nodded mutely.

"It'll be dirty then. Dean, can you pass me the peroxide?" Sam asked.

Dean retrieved the bottle from the kit and handed it to Sam.

"This is going to sting," Sam warned and then tipped the bottle over the wound. Castiel hissed and tried to pull his hand back, but Sam held him firmly. "It's alright," he said. "It'll stop in just a minute." He smiled up at Castiel, and it was returned tentatively.

"You won't need stitches," Dean said, peering down at the wound over Sam's shoulder.

Castiel smiled slightly.

Sam placed the gauze pad over the wound and wrapped the bandage around Castiel's palm, tethering it to his wrist. When he was done, he taped it in place and leaned back. His expression was still uncharacteristically soft as he asked, "What happened, Cas?"

"She beat me and stole my grace," Castiel said reluctantly, as if he was ashamed. "Anna's, too."

"Who?" Dean asked.

"Billie."

Dean stiffened. Billie, the Reaper. The creature that had shoved Sam in The Empty. The one that would have seen him spend eternity in that place.

"It was my fault," Anna said. "The Reaper caught me and attacked. I called for help. Castiel came. They fought and she won."

Castiel's uninjured hand came up to cup his throat. Dean had seen Sam do the same thing when he'd had his scar there. It was the memory resurfacing. Dean looked down at his friend and felt a wave of sadness for him.

"Okay," Sam said. "Has anyone called Gabriel yet?"

"He's the one who brought us here, ," Anna replied softly. "He should be around somewhere. He said something about circling the wagons."

"You think Billie will come back?" Dean asked, looking around at the sigils daubed on the wall. He wondered if they were to repel Reapers.

"No, but Michael might," Gabriel drawled from the doorway. All eyes moved to him and he waved a lazy arm. "Oh, good. You're here."

"And so are you," Dean said.

Gabriel looked sour. "Never let it be said I let a brother down."

Dean had many responses to that, namely that he'd let the world down and Castiel by extension during the apocalypse, but he held his tongue. He wouldn't put it past Gabriel to flap off if they gave him an excuse.

"Michael knows?" Sam asked.

Gabriel snorted. "Michael knows plenty. He knows Anna has come out of hiding. He knows she and Castiel are human."

Castiel winced and Anna squeezed his uninjured hand.

"What else does he know?" He tapped his chin. "Oh, yeah. He knows I'm alive!

"How?" Dean asked.

"He rolled up just as I was making with the dramatic rescue mission. The Reaper booked it out of there, grace included, and then Michael showed up. He got a good look at me and my vessel, and I'm betting he's currently scouring the earth looking for me. He's got to be pissed as all hell about the witness protection thing I pulled."

"Oh wow," Dean whispered.

"Yeah. I'm screwed," Gabriel snapped, glaring at Castiel and Anna where they sat on the cot.

"Lay off, Gabriel," Sam said forcefully. "Do something useful. Cas' hand needs healing."

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

"Yes," Sam said.

Gabriel snapped his fingers. "Come on then, Castiel. Come here so I can fix your booboo."

"It's okay," Castiel said. "It will heal."

Gabriel narrowed his eyes. "It will, when you come here. What's wrong, Castiel? You attached to your human wound? Think you deserve it maybe?"

"Cas?" Dean probed.

Castiel shook his head.

Sam seemed to understand something more than Dean. "You don't deserve it, and it won't help. Believe me." He pulled on Castiel's arm until he stood and then led him to Gabriel who pulled off the bandage roughly, making Castiel wince, and then laid a glowing hand over the wound. When he pulled back, the wound was gone.

"Better?" Gabriel asked.

"Yes. Thank you, Gabriel," Castiel said quietly.

Sam narrowed his eyes for a moment and then shook his head and schooled his expression into something neutral. "Okay," he said. "I need to make a couple calls and then we need to all sit down and talk. I'll be right back." He turned and walked from the room. Dean heard his footsteps creak on the stairs and then his voice, "Hey, it's me…"

* * *

Sam was at the counter, watching the coffee drip down into the pot when Bobby came in behind him.

"Good idea," Bobby said, taking mugs from the cupboard and setting them on a tray.

"Figured we'd need it," Sam said.

"You're not wrong," Bobby agreed. "Sounds like we've got a helluva couple days ahead of us." He hesitated and then asked, "What are we going to do, Sam?"

"We're going to get their grace back," Sam said stoutly.

Bobby nodded. "Yeah, I'm with you there, but how the Hell are we going to do that? If that Reaper is strong enough to take Castiel down, we don't stand a chance. And how are we going to find something we can't see?"

"I don't know," Sam admitted. "I just know we have to do it. Cas needs it back. He's…"

"Not the same without it," Bobby said.

"Exactly. I'm not talking about the fact he's essentially powerless now; I mean who he is as a person. It's like how I felt without Dean. Castiel has lost the part of him that makes him who he is. He's lost without it. I know how that feels, and look how well that ended for me—and the world."

I don't think he'll top you there," Bobby said apologetically.

"No. But the rest…"

The coffee maker dribbled its last and Bobby set to filling the mugs while Sam stared out of the window over the dark yard. He was thinking of the task ahead of them. It seemed insurmountable, but they had to find a way. It was more than Castiel's spirit that they were defending. It was his life. There was nothing to say that Michael wouldn't decide that by losing his grace, Castiel had lost God's favor, too. He might decide it was time to deal with the annoyance that was the former angel once and for all. They couldn't lose him. He was family.

Bobby carried the tray down to the basement, Sam on his heels, and set it down on the desk. Dean and Anna fell upon it, both obviously needing the boost. Castiel stood but then hesitated.

Sam dumped a few spoonfuls of sugar into a mug and held it out to his friend. "Try it. The caffeine will help, and the sugar is good for shock."

What Sam thought he really needed, and needed himself even, was a belt of whiskey, but he didn't think a drunk former angel was going to help their cause much.

Castiel sipped it, grimaced, and then drank some more. Sam couldn't help but think he'd taken Sam's advice as a command. It was so different to how he had been before: the mighty angel that had sent Sam into unconsciousness the first time they'd met rather than deal with his shit.

"So," Gabriel said, "since you're all caffeinated and ready to go, what exactly are we going to do now?"

Sam lowered his own coffee and said, "Bobby and I were just talking about that. I think the first thing is finding that Reaper and getting their grace back."

Anna flinched, but Sam didn't press her for a reason. He figured they had enough to deal with already.

"I can help you a little with that," Gabriel said. "I don't know a whole heap about Reapers, but I can probably find you someone that does."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. You might not have worked it out, but there are a few places you're pretty much guaranteed to find a Reaper, like a hospital."

Dean sighed. "That's a little ghoulish, don't you think?"

Gabriel slapped his forehead. "Of course. I forgot you Winchesters' dedication to not being a little dark. I mean, you'd never dig up some poor undeparted soul's grave, would you? And there are limits to what you'd do to help your friend."

"There are _no_ limits," Dean growled.

"Then you guys twiddle your thumbs while I go track down someone useful, since, you know, you're not." He disappeared.

"Dick," Sam said.

Castiel nodded.

With nothing else to do but, as Gabriel had said, twiddle their thumbs, Sam leaned against the wall and addressed Anna. "Not that I'm not glad to see you now, but where have you been these past couple years?"

"In hiding," Anna said, glancing at Castiel. "When Castiel and Uriel came for me, it was at the order of someone much more powerful."

"Michael," Castiel agreed.

"Yes. Not long after I last saw you, I heard my name on angel radio, and I knew he was looking for me. I haven't stayed in the same place for more than a few hours since."

Sam felt a wave of pity for her. He'd spent much of his life traveling hunt to hunt, but he'd always had Ellen's to go back to when he needed a base or break. Constantly being on the move, hour by hour with no relief, must have been awful. How had she lived like that? The answer was she hadn't. She had merely existed.

Silence fell and no one seemed inclined to break it. Castiel sat staring blankly out over the room, seemingly in shock still. Sam wished he had the words to comfort, but he had never been good at things like that. He could fight Castiel's enemies for him and treat his physical wounds, but the mental ones were beyond his reach.

The quiet was broken by a flutter of sound and Gabriel appeared in the doorway with a woman beside him.

"Tessa," Sam said.

She smiled slightly. "Hello, Sam. It's good to see you again."

"Reunion over?" Gabriel said impatiently. "Good. Now, I have apprised Tessa here of the situation, and she's going to help us."

"Thank you," Sam said fervently.

"First things first," Gabriel said. "If you're going after Billie, you need to be able to see her." He gestured Sam over with a finger.

Sam walked to him and fought the urge to flinch back as Gabriel reached for his forehead. He felt a sharp pain behind his eyes and his vision blurred for a moment. He blinked rapidly and asked, "What did that do?"

"It enables you to see things beyond human perception," Gabriel replied. "Angels when invisible. Demons' true forms, Zanna, and, of course, Reapers."

"Demons?" Dean asked, his voice strained.

"Yep," Gabriel said. "Oh. Yeah. I didn't think about that part of it."

"What part?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Have at it then."

Gabriel pressed his fingers to Dean's temple, and he winced as a spark of blue-white light glowed and disappeared.

"So, now that you can see them, you need to be able to find them. That's where Tessa here comes in."

Tessa stepped past Dean and came into the room. "There is a spell to track a Reaper and a way to trap one."

"A trap?" Sam asked, looking intrigued.

"Yes. It works like a devil's trap. You get one of us inside one, and we're stuck there until it's broken."

"Great," Dean said, crossing to the desk and picking up a pad of paper and a pen. He carried it over to Tessa and said, "Sketch it out for us?"

She took the paper and pen and drew a symbol with overlapping squares and sigils at the edges. Sam stared at it for a long moment, committing it to memory, and nodded.

"Okay," Dean said. "And how do we track one?"

"We scry for it," Gabriel said. "I assume you have the equipment, Bobby."

Bobby nodded. "Upstairs. I'll fetch it."

"We'll come," Sam said, nodding at Dean.

They went up to the library and Bobby rooted in a cupboard behind the desk. He pulled out the contraption they'd used to track Lilith before Snake Creek. Sam fought back a shudder at the memories that tried to overpower him.

Bobby laid out a map on the desk and set up the scry over it. "Anything special I need?" he asked Tessa who had come in behind them.

"Just the words," she said, then her voice rang out clear as she recited Latin. "Unum quod ducit ad mortem."

The crystal began to swing of its own accord over the map. It swung faster and faster and then came to a stop over Massachusetts.

Sam squinted down at the map. "Fall River?"

Tessa sighed. "Crowley's court."

"Crowley's what?" Sam asked.

"Court," Gabriel said behind them. "As in where he plays at being King."

Sam glared at him. How was it they'd never heard of this place before? It would have been useful to know Crowley had an earth-based point of operations.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Quit with the bitch face, Winchester. I didn't tell you because I didn't want you running in there to your death. I would have told you when it was time. If you'd have gone in dry, you'd have died. Although, I'm doubting even that would be enough."

"Dry!" Dean gasped. "Are you talking about—?"

"We're talking about nothing but Billie right now," Gabriel interrupted. "She's the mission. We'll revisit the domestic dispute later, okay?"

Dean didn't look happy, but he didn't push the issue.

"Good," Gabriel said. "Now, you boys need to get your gear together and head out. The longer we wait, the more chance there is she'll move on. She may even have handed the grace over already."

Sam nodded. "I'll get the weapons. You let the others know what's going on, Dean?" He framed it as a question.

"Okay," Dean said.

Sam went out to the Impala and popped the trunk. The colt sat in its warded box. Sam spoke the Latin required to release the bonds and the lock clicked open. Her took out the gun and cradled it in his hands for a moment, remembering it in his father's skilled hands. Then the moment passed and he laid the gun back down and closed the box. He didn't know what they were walking into, and he didn't want to risk losing the colt. They would definitely need it when they went up against Crowley. He quickly loaded a duffel with other weapons and then walked back into the house.

He heard the stressed voices before he reached the panic room.

"But I can help you," Castiel protested.

"Cas," Dean said consolingly, "you're safer here."

"This is my fight!" Castiel sounded more animated than he had since Sam and Dean had arrived and found his new human state.

"We know," Sam said. "But we need you here. Michael is looking for Anna, maybe you, too."

Gabriel clucked his tongue. "If we take you, you'll be a target on all of our backs, Castiel. It's going to be tough enough dealing with Billie. We can't take on an archangel, too. Would you risk your friends like that?"

Sam thought he was laying it on a bit thick, but it worked. Castiel looked dour but nodded.

"Bobby's staying, too," Dean said, imploring his friend with his eyes to not argue.

"Yeah," Bobby said grimly. "And I need all the help I can get keeping these sigils up."

As far as Sam could see, the room was pretty well warded, but he didn't comment.

"We'll be back soon, Cas," Sam said.

Castiel looked him in the eye, seeming to be trying to look right through him. Perhaps he had once been able to, but he was just as human as Sam now; more so even as he didn't have the curse of demon blood.

"Be careful," Castiel implored.

"They always are," Gabriel answered before Sam or Dean could. "See you in the funny pages."

Sam felt the lurch of vertigo as he was swept away, and he could only hope that his words to Castiel hadn't been a lie—they would see him soon, except, perhaps, if Crowley was there.

* * *

Dean saw the demons the moment Gabriel set them down in front of the neglected building. There were two of them, and they were standing by the doors, their rotted, horrific true faces flashing into view beneath their meat suits. Sam reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out Ruby's knife. He slapped it into Dean's hand.

"Sam…"

"I've got my own weapon," Sam said, tapping his forehead.

Dean started to protest, but the demons spotted them and started forward, excited looks on their faces.

Sam raised a hand and one of the demons stopped, struggling against Sam's hold on him. Dean watched his brow furrow, and then worried thoughts of his brother straining himself disappeared as the second demon rushed him. He brought up the knife, ready to defend, but Gabriel was already in motion. He shoved his blade forward and it sank into the demon's throat. As he pulled his arm back, blood poured from the wound, spattering to the ground.

The demon Sam had taken care of dropped down into the pool of blood, stirring feebly. At least the man who had been possessed was alive, Dean thought, even if he was facing a lifetime of therapy.

"Shall we go in?" Gabriel asked, even as he walked forward and flung the doors open. With a deep breath, Dean followed him inside.

There were three demons just inside the door; they looked as though they had been waiting for them. Sam reached for one as Dean and Gabriel lunged forward with their weapons raised. The archangel dodged a grab from the demon facing him—a woman in a black pantsuit—and stabbed her in the chest.

"Not the most covert entrance I've ever made," Gabriel said.

"No," Sam said, then groaned as two new demons rushed down the staircase in front of them.

"I'll find Billie," Gabriel said quickly. "You two do your thing."

He disappeared, leaving Sam and Dean alone against the demons rushing them.

Dean lost track of what Sam was doing as he concentrated on the first demon. He heard Sam's grunt of effort though, and he knew Sam was going to be dealing with a headache when this was over.

He took out the demon attacking him, though the demon got in a couple of blows before he managed to sink the blade into its chest.

There were a multitude of doors leading off of the lobby, and when Sam headed left, Dean hesitated before heading right.

He had killed five more demons before he heard Gabriel's shout. "Sam! Dean! Here!"

Dean ran toward the voice, meeting Sam in the burst into the room together and Dean stopped dead.

"Man, what a dick." Sam said,

Tessa had said Crowley had a court, but Dean hadn't thought she meant it so literally. There was a high carved throne on a raised dais. It was the stupidest thing Dean had seen from Crowley yet.

In the middle of the room was a woman standing in the middle of a trap that looked like it had been carved into the stone floor; it glowed slightly.

"Billie," Sam growled.

She grinned at him. "Winchester. Good to see you again. How was The Empty?"

"Short-lived," Sam said.

"Next time it won't be," she promised.

"Okay, enough of this crap," Dean snapped. "Where's the grace?"

"I handed it over already," she said cheerfully.

Sam cursed.

"I don't believe you," Dean said. "Why would you still be here if you'd given it up?"

"I like the ambience," she said. "And the company was good before you slaughtered them all. Whole lotta death happened here today."

"Indeed," a deep voice said from behind them

Billie's mouth dropped open and she looked horrified. Dean didn't blame her. He would feel the same in her position.

He turned and saw Death standing by the doorway.

"Enough death to draw me in even," Death went on. He leaned on his cane and addressed Sam and Dean. "I apologize, gentlemen, but she's not lying. I can sense no grace on her.

Sam and Dean exchanged a horrified look. Castiel's grace was gone. How were they going to tell him?

Billie stared horror-struck into Death's somber face. "Sir, I…"

"Quiet," Death said mildly, but the command was clear. Billie's mouth snapped shut. "I am disappointed in you, Billie." He sounded like a kindly grandfather catching a child with her hand in the cookie jar. "So much so that I have given much thought to what I will do with you next."

"Please," she whispered.

"Quiet," he said again, a bite of anger in his tone now. "It was actually you that gave me the idea. You sent Sam Winchester to The Empty, and I thought what a wonderful idea that was. So, that's where you're going. Say goodbye, Billie." Ignoring Billie's begging, Death walked forward and scraped the edge of the trap with his cane. The faint light it emanated fizzled and faded to nothing. Death grabbed Billie's arm and they both disappeared without a sound.

"Well," Gabriel said. "That went well."

"What the hell are we going to do?" Sam asked.

"How about you start by dying?" a sneering voice said.

A light pulsed through the room and Gabriel was whipped away.

Dean saw a demon with red eyes standing in the doorway, a whimpering woman in his arms. Even as they watched, the demon dropped her bloody palm from where it was pressed against the sigil and then snapped her neck. She fell boneless to the stone floor. The demon adjusted its collar and Dean saw the large ring with a green stone. Pestilence's ring.

"Winchesters," he said. "I have been hoping we'd meet."

* * *

Ellen rushed into the panic room and made straight for Castiel. "Oh, honey, look at you."

She pulled him into a hug and Castiel felt her warmth against him. It took all he had not to crumple into her embrace. When she pulled back, her hands on his shoulders, he forced a smile.

"Hello, Ellen."

Ellen looked at Anna. "Hey. Sweetie. How are you doing?"

Anna shrugged. "I'm okay."

Castiel had wondered about that. While he felt disoriented and desperate, Anna seemed to be taking it all in her stride. Castiel thought it was more than the fact she'd been human before; it was like she was happier in this state than as an angel. He couldn't comprehend it. How could she bear the absence of wings at her back? Didn't she miss the touch of God upon her?

"Right," Ellen said. "I'm guessing no one's thought to get you something to eat yet?"

"Sam gave me coffee," Castiel said. "It was very sweet."

Ellen smiled fondly. "Of course he did. Okay then. If they're out getting your grace back, there's not long for us to get this done. There's a few things you need to experience first. Starting with chocolate."

Anna's eyes lit up. "Yes."

Ellen looked at Bobby where he lurked at the door. "Go on, Singer, give up your stash."

"What makes you think I've got a stash?" Bobby asked.

"The fact that you're human," Ellen said.

Bobby grumbled but stomped away and up the stairs. He came back a moment later with a block of chocolate wrapped in brown packaging.

Ellen took it from him with a smile and appraised it. "I knew you'd keep the good stuff." She tore at the wrapper and broke off three squares and handed them to Anna who took them with a gleeful look and popped a piece into her mouth with a moan of pleasure.

Ellen broke off some more and handed it to Castiel. He hesitated before taking it, and said, "Ellen, I don't believe this is the time to be eating chocolate."

"That's where you're wrong," she said waggling a finger at him. "If the boys are on this, you'll be angel again by dawn, and you should experience this while you can."

Her absolute certainty in Sam and Dean should have reassured him, but it didn't. He turned away and walked to the other side of the room. There, he slid down the wall until he was sitting with his back pressed against the cold metal.

Ellen watched him for a moment, and then came to sit beside him. Castiel would have liked to send her away, but he couldn't be rude to the woman who had shown him kindness before. He knew she was trying to distract him, but he didn't want a distraction. He wanted to help.

"They'll fix this, Cas," she said quietly, making the words just for him despite the fact Anna and Bobby could surely hear them.

"Exactly," Castiel said bitterly. " _They_ will fix it. Again. While I stand useless. They would not even let me go with them."

Ellen sat in thoughtful silence for a moment and then said, "You remember the last fight? When Lucifer was in Sam and you and Dean went after him to stop him?"

How could he forget? "Of course."

"Then you remember what you and Dean said to me before you left."

Castiel nodded. "Yes."

"Then can't you see that Sam and Dean are saying the same thing to you now?"

* * *

 _One year previously…_

The bar of The Roadhouse was filled with such tension; Castiel had never felt anything like it before. Ellen's face was wet as she sat at the table the Winchesters usually claimed as their own. In her hand she held a glass of whiskey but she wasn't drinking. Dean was pale as he paced up and down in front of them. Castiel could see the thoughts rushing in his eyes, each being discounted as fast as it came. He was trying to think of something, anything, to derail the coming battle. It was down to the wire. Michael and Lucifer would meet in less than thirty minutes.

Suddenly, he stopped. "Screw this! I have to go!"

"Dean," Castiel said consolingly. "There is nothing left to achieve by being there."

"There's nothing left to lose either," he replied. "If this is going to happen anyway, we're all toast. I can at least be with him when it happens."

Castiel shook his head. "The only thing that you're gonna see out there is Michael killing your brother."

"Well, then I ain't gonna let him die alone."

Ellen choked back a sob and Jo sat down beside her, resting a hand on Ellen's where it was clenched on the tabletop.

Castiel looked into his eyes and saw the resolution. Dean was accepting his death. All that mattered to him now was that he was with his brother at the moment it happened, no matter what form of him happened to be left at the time.

"Okay," Castiel said. "I will take you to him—"

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. "Cas… Thank you."

"But you must understand," he went on, "Even if you succeed, as I know you believe you can, and reach Sam, you will die regardless. Michael will smite you in revenge."

Dean shrugged. "If I reach him, if Sam drags Satan into the cage again, there will be nothing left for me to live for anyway. Take me, Cas, and give me what I need."

"Me too," Ellen said, lurching to her feet.

Jo whimpered. "Mom."

"No," Dean said harshly. "You have to stay here."

"Why?" she asked angrily. ""I have as much chance of reaching him as you."

"I know," Dean said sadly. "But we need you safe. If we win, I die, but that's okay as I'll have nothing left. You have Jo."

Ellen swiped at the tears on her face. "I need to be there."

"We need you safe," Dean said.

"Sam needs you safe," Castiel said. "You have to live, Ellen."

Ellen threw herself at him and Dean caught her in his arms. She clung to him and sobbed against his shoulder. Dean patted her back and then pulled away gently.

"I have to go now," Dean said.

"Save him," Ellen said in a choked voice. "Save my boy."

Dean nodded, even as a tear slid down his cheek. He knew as well as Ellen that there was no way to truly save Sam. If they beat the impossible odds and reached him, they would lose him regardless.

"Be safe, Ellen." Dean said. "Please."

Ellen nodded and Castiel spread his wings and swept Dean to what would surely be his doom.

* * *

"They need me to be safe," Castiel said.

"They do. You're family, Cas, and none of us use that word lightly."

Castiel shook his head. "I _hate_ this," he said fervently. "I hate that I have to leave them t fight for me."

"I know," Ellen said sadly. "I feel the same way practically every day. They're always off saving someone else, and every day I wish it was themselves they were saving. That's why I need them to stop. I need them to live their normal lives, as that will be more than their reward; it will be their salvation."

"And if they fail," Castiel said mournfully. "If they cannot get my grace back. What will become of me then?"

"You will make a new life, too. You will become a Winchester and you will start again. You're more than wings and grace, Cas. You're a person. It's the person Sam and Dean need, not the warrior."

Castiel tried to understand what she was saying, to believe, but he couldn't see what he had to offer them but a soldier. They were his friends, brothers in a way no angel had been before, but what was he really to them? What did they need him for? How could he complete the team that Death said would save the world from Crowley?"

The answer whispered in the back of his mind the way angel radio had before. He would complete them the same way Ellen did. She was no warrior, despite the fact she was an extraordinarily strong woman, but she had her part to play. She supported them, grounded them, gave them someone to come home to for comfort.

Castiel would find his place.

Just then, a voice spoke from the doorway and Castiel realized just how powerless he was.

"Uh, guys, we have a problem," Gabriel said.

"What are you doing here?" Bobby asked. "Where are the boys?"

"That would be part of the problem I mentioned. They're facing an elite demon and I was banished."

Castiel swallowed hard.

"Anyone know where they keep the colt?"

* * *

The demon kicked aside the body of the woman he'd killed and stalked toward them. Sam raised his hand and reached for the core of the demon. He could actually see it now—the smoke that made up the ruined soul it had been. He wrapped his fingers around it and dragged it upward. The smoke resisted. He could see it drawing away from him, and he fought harder to pull it. His head spiked with pain, and he felt warm wetness on his upper lip that told him he was bleeding again.

It was like fighting Samhain, and that hadn't ended well.

"Sam," Dean shifted nervously at his side. ""It's okay," Sam said with a grunt of effort. "I'm okay."

He clenched his fist as hard as he could and yanked upwards. The smoke reached the mouth of the demon, but it stopped. He couldn't make it move any further.

Another spike of pain shot through him, and his hand dropped weakly to his side without his consent.

Dean shifted closer to him so their shoulders brushed. Sam felt comfort in the touch. It reassured him Dean was there and he was okay.

"A little flaccid there, Winchester?" the demon asked with glee. "Let me explain."

He pulled back his sleeve and Sam saw the branded symbol on his wrist. It was the same brand Dean had once worn on his skin when Meg had locked herself in. There was no exorcising this time.

Dean raised the knife and took a step forward. Sam cried out a warning, but it was unnecessary. With a weary sigh the demon swept his arm through the air and Sam and Dean were both pushed back against the wall. Sam's head collided hard and his vision blurred for a moment. Dean's impact made him drop the knife.

The demon laughed as it sauntered forward and picked it up. "Nice workmanship," he said, examining the blade. "Kurdish, am I right?"

"Couldn't tell you," Sam said in a tone of forced casualness. "Just know it works on demons like you."

"You hope." The demon raised his hand and tapped the tip of the blade against his ring. "Maybe this will protect me."

"Maybe," Sam agreed. "How about you let me down instead of acting like a coward and let us find out?"

"Nice try, Sammy. I think I'm just going to hold you here until the boss comes. Crowley would like a word with you gentlemen, and I'm going to stick around to see him rip your spines out. He might even let me help."

"Doubtful," Dean said. "Crowley doesn't seem like the caring sharing type to me."

"Oh, I don't know. He did share the rings after all."

"And people give dogs a collar," Sam said.

"Collars don't make dogs godlike," the demon said.

"No, but they give them something to attach the leash to. See, Crowley has Death's ring: the greatest of the set. You really think that doesn't give him some control over your lesser ones?"

The demon seemed to consider for a moment. "Maybe you're right. I don't care either way. I have enough power to be satisfied with. Enough power to do this, in fact."

He clenched a fist in front of his face and Sam cried out in pain. It felt like an iron hand was gripping his heart and squeezing. He heard Dean shouting his name, but he couldn't respond while the pain ripped through him. Then, as fast as it had come, it ended and the demon smiled smugly at him.

"Enjoy that, Winchester?"

Sam just panted, feeling his heart racing in his chest and the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

"You should," the demon went on. "It's your favourite trick after all. How many demons have you tortured like that? Too many to count, I'm guessing."

Sam shook his head. "Screw you."

The demon clenched his fist again and Sam howled. Then, the pain suddenly cut off as a gunshot rang though the air and Sam was released from the wall. Sam's head snapped to the side to see Dean, remembering another demon with a gun, but Dean was fine. He was staring at something to his right. Sam peered around him and saw Castiel standing in the doorway with a steady hand extended and the colt in his hand. The demon was splayed on his back with a perfect hole his forehead that crackled with energy.

Castiel looked from Sam to Dean and, gesturing with the colt, he said, "I believe you forgot something."

"Cas, man, you're a damn hero," Dean said breathlessly.

Castiel nodded slowly and walked forward. He looked down and then bent to root through the demons pockets.

"What are you…?" Sam started.

"I can feel it," Castiel said. He pulled two small vials of light out of the demons jacket pocket and clutched one to his chest. "It's mine," he said in an awed voice.

"Then take it back," Dean said. "Have what's yours."

Castiel hesitated for a moment and then said in a commanding voice. "Close your eyes."

Sam turned away and brought his hands up to cover his eyes for good measure. There was the tinkle of breaking glass and then a high pitched sound. Sam felt a pulse of energy and then silence. "Cas?" he said tentatively.

"It's okay," Castiel said in a dignified tone. "You can look now."

Sam and Dean turned and Sam took in the sight of Castiel standing proud in the center of the room. Behind him was the shadow of vast wings on the wall. After a moment, they disappeared and Castiel smiled. "I'm back."

"Hell yeah, you are," Sam said, gripping his shoulder.

"Thank you, Cas," Dean said fervently. "Seriously. You saved us. Again."

"It's what we do," Castiel said in a satisfied voice.

* * *

As they walked out of the asylum and a few blocks along the street to where Gabriel waited, Castiel explained the story of how Gabriel had come to Bobby's and told them about the elite banishing him. As an archangel, he was able to return much faster than he would have been able as a seraph, but he couldn't return to the exact point of banishment. Castiel had done it in his stead. They had retrieved the colt from the trunk where Sam had foolishly left it, and then Gabriel had brought Castiel as close to Crowley's lair as he could. From there, Castiel had been alone.

He told the story modestly, sharing only the facts without any details, but Dean knew he was proud of what he had achieved as a human. That wasn't to say he wasn't obviously thrilled to have had his grace returned to him.

When they reached Gabriel where he paced in front of an empty bar, he took one look at them and sighed with relief. "Knew you could do it, Castiel," he said, satisfied.

"Thank you, Gabriel," Castiel said.

"Now, shall we get back before Momma Bear blows? She's a little anxious. Actually, she hasn't stopped praying since we left. It's unusual to hear so many curses and threats in prayer."

Sam smiled slightly and Gabriel's eyes rested on him. "Headache, Sam?" he asked.

"Not so bad," Sam said, an obvious lie.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Sure it's not." He reached up and pressed his fingers to Sam's temple. Sam winced and the paleness Dean hadn't noticed before disappeared as Sam's face flushed with color again.

"Thanks," Sam said.

"Welcome," Gabriel said.

Dean felt the sensation of being moved and they arrived outside the panic room.

"Oh, thank God," Ellen said fervently, rushing them and throwing an arm around Sam and Dean each. "Are you okay?" she asked, pulling back.

"We're fine," Sam said. "Cas saved us."

Ellen smiled at the angel and some secret communication seemed to pass between them. "Knew he would."

Castiel bowed his head to hide his wide smile.

"Now, Castiel is all boosted up and angelic again," Gabriel said. "Which means it's your turn, Anna."

Anna shook her head. "I don't want it."

Dean stared at her, stunned. "What?"

"I am done," she said. "I cannot be that anymore."

"You know if Michael finds you human, he will kill you without thought," Gabriel said mildly.

"I know," she replied. "And if he finds me an angel, he will kill me, too. At least if I die human, I will have a chance at Heaven. As an angel I have no such comfort."

Silence fell over the room. Dean understood to an extent, having had his own taste of Heaven, why she would want that, and life as an angel didn't seem like the best thing in the world, but at least it was life.

"Anna…" Castiel said sadly.

"Chocolate, Castiel," she said. "I want to taste it again."

Castiel looked pensive for a moment and then he nodded. "I understand."

Gabriel sighed heavily. "Okay. I can help, maybe. How would you feel about a relocation and some added protection?"

"Will I be a prisoner?" Anna asked.

"Nope. As it happened, there are a few pagan gods that owe me, and I can set you up with one of them."

"Thank you, Gabriel," she said.

Gabriel shrugged. "I know what it's like to need to escape, don't forget."

Anna turned to Sam and Dean. "You guys take care of each other. Keep on saving the world." She looked at Castiel a little sadly, "You keep on saving them, Cas."

"I will do my best," Castiel said.

She walked out into the hall beside Gabriel, and a moment later they were gone.

"What next?" Ellen asked.

"I don't know about you, but I need sleep," Sam said.

Castiel nodded. "You should all sleep. I will watch over you."

Sam looked uncomfortable, but Dean understood what the angel was saying. He was back to being their protector, and that made Dean at least feel a little safer.

* * *

 **So… Cas is back on form and Anna is in witness protection. I knew as soon as I started to outline this arc that Anna wouldn't want to be an angel again. She had a miserable time of it. She wants to taste the chocolate. Who wouldn't?**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	17. Chapter 17

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for the fab beta job and Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for all your help.**

 **Thank you all for reading x**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Seventeen**_

Missouri Moseley bustled around her living room, straightening the couch cushions and brushing lint from the heavy drapes. She had a new client coming that day, and she wanted her house to look its best. She'd had several new clients recently; since she had placed an advertisement in a newspaper that served the towns surrounding Lawrence, business had been good. Unlike most of the very few others who shared her gift, she liked to help people more than she liked to take their money. She might not always tell them the truth, but they always left her happy. People didn't come to her for the truth anyway. They came because she could help them, whether it be with gentle guidance or a lie.

The woman who was coming today had said she needed help making a decision. She had sounded almost tearful on the phone when she'd made her appointment. That wasn't unusual though. Some people came to Missouri with heavy burdens.

There was a tap on the door and Missouri took a moment to smooth her hair then walked through the hall to answer. The woman on the threshold was older than Missouri expected from the voice on the phone. She looked to be mid-forties. Her auburn hair was pulled back tightly from her face in a bun, which rather than smoothing the wrinkles around her mouth and eyes, seemed to accentuate them. Her ring finger bore a mark where a ring had been worn, perhaps for many years, but there was no ring now. And her eyes, they were so tired, defeated. On her shoulder was a tan leather handbag. Missouri took it all in the moment she saw her, and her sadness for the woman was brushed aside and replaced with a smile.

"Elizabeth?" she asked.

The woman nodded.

"I'm Missouri Moseley. Come on in."

She stepped back and the woman entered, then she paused with her back to the wall while Missouri closed the door and led her back along the hallway into the living room.

"Come on through," she said, holding back the bead curtain for Elizabeth to pass through. "We'll be more comfortable in here."

Missouri didn't live among a constant stream of other people's thoughts in her mind. She had to concentrate to hear them. Sometimes she did it automatically, her gift drawn by something, but this woman gave her nothing to make her curious. She dipped into her thoughts anyway, and was surprised that she wasn't thinking of anything Missouri expected—namely the reason for her visit. She seemed to be focusing on her surroundings. Missouri frowned. Her furniture was nice enough, but it didn't warrant the concentrated appraisal Elizabeth was giving it.

"Have a seat," Missouri said, and when Elizabeth had sat down, she took the armchair opposite. "What can I do for you today?"

The other woman bit her lip, seeming to be concentrating hard for a moment, and then she gave a little nod and bent to her bag. "I was wondering if you could help me," she said, fumbling with something inside.

"Of course," Missouri said. "That's what I do."

Elizabeth straightened up and Missouri felt a wave of sickening fear as she saw what the woman had been rummaging for in her bag. It was a gun, a snub-nosed revolver that she brought up to aim at Missouri. "Is dying what you do, too?" she asked.

Missouri's hands flew up in front of her in a defensive gesture. "Take whatever you want!" she said. "All the money's in a canister in the kitchen. It says coffee, but it's my cash. It's all I have. Please, take it and leave. I won't tell anyone you were here."

Elizabeth sneered at her. "Sure you won't."

"I swear I won't."

"Maybe you won't. Unfortunately for you, I'm not here for money."

"Why are you here then?" Missouri asked.

She smiled grimly. "For revenge."

Missouri searched her mind, trying to think of something she could have done that would spur this woman into vengeance. "What did I do?"

"You… you made the wrong friends," Elizabeth said. "You helped the wrong person."

Missouri flinched as a face flashed through Elizabeth's mind, pushing into her own, a face she knew well but had never seen looking like _that_. Sam Winchester, his eyes deeply shadowed, his face gaunt and pale, and devoid of expression. He looked like an animated corpse.

"Sam Winchester," Elizabeth growled.

"I don't know anyone called that," Missouri said quickly.

"Liar," she said. "You're the one that helped him and his brother hunt the poltergeist."

Missouri blanched. How was it possible that she knew about that?

"I've let you live this long," Elizabeth said. "I could have killed you on your doorstep. The least you can do is be honest with me." The gun wavered in her hand.

"I'm sorry," Missouri said. "I know Sam, I do, but why do you want to kill me because of him?"

"I already told you, revenge. Sam ruined my life. I want him to pay for that."

"What did he do?" Missouri asked.

She looked thoughtful and the muzzle of the gun lowered slightly, pointing at Missouri's chest instead of face. "He left me to die…"

* * *

Elizabeth screamed within her own mind as she was shoved into the strange painted circle on the ground. She didn't understand what it was or why the creature that had taken her over was so scared of it, but she knew she should be scared too.

The blonde woman with black eyes that had attacked and trapped them stepped back and laughed. "Nice and comfy?" she asked. "Good. He'll be here soon and you should probably make the most of the quiet while you can, Felix."

The creature, Felix apparently, sneered. "You think I'm scared of you two? You are inferior to me, Ruby."

"And yet you're in the trap and I'm not," Ruby, said smugly. "I think you've got things back to front."

Felix spat at her with Elizabeth's mouth and Ruby recoiled. Wiping a hand over her face, she stepped back and then took a deep breath. "I'd say I'd make you pay for that," she said. "But Sam's going to do much worse than I could, so I'll leave it to him."

Elizabeth felt a chill of fear separate to her own horror. The creature that had her was scared, too. That made her see her situation was even direr than she'd realized before, even with her body and being taken over by the black smoke. Whoever this Sam was, she didn't want to meet him.

Ruby leaned against the wall and crossed her arms over her chest, the picture of relaxation, and Felix started to pace the edges of the circle it was trapped in. It was like it couldn't cross the painted line.

"What kind of demon are you, Ruby?" Felix asked. "Why would you help the Winchester?"

Demon. Was that what had overpowered Elizabeth? It made sense. Whatever it was certainly wasn't natural.

She remembered the day it had happened clearly; the memory was seared into her mind forever. She had been seeing her youngest daughter off to college. After many tears tempered by pride, she had walked away from the campus and started toward her car. She'd had the key in the door when the smoke had come. It had forced its way down her throat. She'd been unable to resist. It was like her body acted of its own accord. And then the voice had whispered to her, "Buckle in, lady, it's going to be a helluva ride." That was just the start of the nightmare.

She hadn't always been aware. Sometimes she lost time, entire days, before the creature—demon?— allowed her a glimpse into the real world. She had seen occasional newspapers or ticker tape on the TV and the dates had told her she'd been a prisoner in her own body for months. She wondered what her family thought had happened to her. They must be so worried.

The ringing of a phone broke into her thoughts and she snapped back to the room. Ruby had the phone to her ear and she was speaking. "Sam? Finally… Yeah, I've got one for you. 33957. We're in an abandoned apartment complex on the south of the city… Look for the car." She paused to listen for a moment. "See you— Goodbye to you, too." She snapped the phone shut and tucked it back into her pocket. "Not long now…" she said gleefully to Felix.

Some time later, Elizabeth had no way of gauging how much, there was a knock on the door to the apartment. Ruby went to answer and when she returned, there was man with her. He was tall and Elizabeth's first thought was that he was in the end stages of some terrible illness. He looked awful with his dark eyes and gaunt face. Then she sensed the tremendous power emanating from the man and she realized his looks were deceiving.

Felix quailed inside her, she felt it, but when he spoke he sounded confident. "Sam Winchester, how's it going? Are you missing your big brother yet?"

The man's, Sam's, expression darkened impossibly and she felt a surge of fear at the sight. He was going to do terrible things to her, she knew.

She was right. He slowly raised a hand as if her was going to point at her, and then the most incredible pain shot though her. She cried out, as did Felix. It felt like an iron hand was gripping her heart and squeezing. She had never felt pain like it in her life. She wished for it to end, for unconsciousness, for the dark, but she remained damnably aware.

Then it faded and Felix was left panting.

"You can go now, Ruby," Sam said dully.

"You sure?" she asked. "You don't want me to stick around and help?"

"How can you help?" he asked, no trace of curiosity in his voice.

She sighed. "Okay. I get the point. I'll be searching down another plaything for you."

Sam nodded and then she disappeared without a sound. Elizabeth would have been shocked had she had any space left for feelings other than fear and pain.

Felix seemed to have regained some of his spirit. He smirked and said, "Just the two of us now, Winchester. Want to make out?"

Sam didn't even react to the words. He just raised his hand again and clenched a fist.

Agony ripped through them, and Elizabeth was lost for a long time in suffering. When it ended, and Sam was lowering his hand, Felix spoke, though it wasn't aloud—it was to Elizabeth alone. _"Okay, meat suit, it's your chance to shine. I'm letting you hold the reins awhile. Lay it on thick and there's a chance we might both make it out alive."_

"What?" Elizabeth began and then gasped as she realized the words had come from her mouth. She had control again. She brought a hand to her face as tears began to fall. For the first time in so long, she was herself again.

Sam rolled his eyes and she thought she saw a flicker of emotion in his face. It didn't last long enough for her to get a gauge on what it was; it could have been irritation or regret.

"Help me," Elizabeth moaned. "Please, let me go."

Sam stared at her with expressionless eyes.

"Please," she said again. "I don't know what's happening. My name is Elizabeth Grange. I have a family. A grandchild on the way." Though perhaps it had been born already without her presence. "I have never hurt anyone in my life. I'm a good person."

For a long moment, Sam stood in silence, and then he raised his hand again. Elizabeth braced herself for pain and it came, but it wasn't the same as before. It felt like something was being dragged out of her. Her mouth opened automatically as the feeling of something coming up her throat swept through her, and then she saw the smoke. It bled out of her, sinking down to the floor and disappearing. Elizabeth dropped onto her hands and knees and she felt the pain of what felt like a thousand injuries pummeling her. She panted and moaned and fought the blackness that tried to overtake her. It was no good though; it came for her despite her efforts and she fell forward, her cheek pressing against the dirty floor. Her last memory was Sam's voice saying, "Tell no one what happened here."

* * *

Missouri listened to the tale with horror. She felt sickened by what had happened to the woman, even more so knowing who had put her through it.

"When I woke up, I dragged myself out of the apartment and walked until I couldn't walk anymore," Elizabeth said. "Then I crawled. I saw someone on the street ahead of me and then I collapsed. I woke up in the hospital, and that's where the real pain started."

"What could be worse?" Missouri asked.

Elizabeth looked up at her. "The psych ward. I told them what had happened to me, I wasn't thinking clearly at the time, and they locked me up. They didn't, couldn't, believe me, so they put me away. They gave me drugs that made me a zombie and they made me talk; again and again, they made me tell the story of what had happened to me."

Missouri wiped a tear from her cheek. "That's terrible."

"You have no idea." Elizabeth drew a deep breath. "I was there for years, years without my family even calling let alone visiting! And then I found the books. One of the patients left the first in the patient's lounge, and I read it. I read it and then another and another, and I thought finally I really was losing my mind. How could there be books about a man called Sam with psychic powers that could do what the man that attacked me could? I knew somehow, though, that it was true." She smiled beatifically. "And so I stopped talking about Sam and the demon. I told them I knew it was all in my head. I told them I was wrong. They were so pleased. They let me out after a while, and then I started to plan."

"To kill me?" Missouri asked fearfully.

"Not you specifically," she admitted. "But someone he cared for. I would have liked it to be Ellen—I know how much he loves her—but I went to that bar and there were so many 'hunters' protecting the place, I had no chance. I despaired for a while, but then fate intervened. I saw an advert in the local rag for a psychic, a psychic called Missouri Mosely. I'd read all about you in one of the books and I just knew it had to be you. So I made my appointment and I came and found you. I can't tell you what a relief this is. I will finally be able to sleep tonight when this is over."

The gun that had been in her lap rose again to point at Missouri, and Missouri did the only thing she could think to do. She closed her eyes and prayed for salvation. _"Castiel…"_

There was the sound of the hammer being cocked back and then a deep breath.

Missouri waited, wondering if she would feel pain before death or if it would be fast and peaceful. She hoped for peace and prepared for pain.

"This isn't as easy as I thought it would be," Elizabeth said then, a hint of disappointment in her voice.

Missouri opened her eyes and saw Elizabeth get to her feet and walk to the window.

"I thought I could just pull the trigger and it would be over," she said. "But it's much harder than that."

Missouri felt a tickle of hope. "You don't have to do this," she said. "I know you feel like you need revenge, but it won't help you. You've read the books; you know it."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "What was Sam doing when he hurt me if not seeking revenge?"

"He was trying to save his brother," Missouri said quickly. "He thought if he became powerful enough, he could save him."

"Did it work?"

"No. Someone else saved Dean before Sam could."

"Dean's alive?" Elizabeth asked incredulously. "Sam has his brother back?"

Missouri nodded. "Yes."

Elizabeth scowled. "He gets his brother back and I lose everything. In what kind of world is that fair?"

"He didn't have everything," Missouri said. "He saved the world and he suffered unimaginably for it. He went to Hell with the Devil to save us all. Do you remember the storms and deaths back in 2010? That was the end of the world. Sam stopped it."

"Do you really expect me to believe that?" she asked.

Missouri felt helpless but it quickly faded to be replaced with horror as a voice answered her. "It's the truth." It was Dean.

There was a rush of movement and something occluded Missouri's view as someone rushed in front of her. Someone cried out, "Sam!" and then a voice, calm and calculated, said, "No one move."

Missouri took in the room and saw Sam standing in front of her, his arms spread wide, directly in the sights of the gun. Dean and Castiel were by the door.

"Sam Winchester," Elizabeth said, a bite of anger in her tone. "Remember me?"

Missouri winced as Sam answered, "No."

Elizabeth laughed harshly. "Let me jog your memory. Sanibel, Florida. You hurt me."

"You were one of the demons," Sam said.

"No! I was one of the demon's victims. One of _your_ victims. You tortured me!"

Sam shook his head. Missouri couldn't see Sam's face directly, so she dipped into Dean's mind. At once she was overcome with a wave of fear and running thoughts of, ' _Not Sam! Please, not Sam! Don't shoot!'_ Dean was panicked. She could see and feel nothing else so she changed to Sam's mind.

' _What did I do? Dear God, what did I do to this woman?'_ He was searching his mind for the memory and eventually it came to him: her face as she lay unconscious on the floor. He had checked her pulse and, satisfied, walked out of the building.

"I left you," he said quietly.

Elizabeth nodded and the gun wavered in her hand. "You left me to die."

"I'm sorry," Sam said, now looking genuinely remorseful.

She laughed harshly. "Sorry!"

"I am," Sam said. "I shouldn't have done that to you. I should have gotten the demon out straight away. I shouldn't have hurt you."

"You ruined my life!" she shouted.

Sam's mind recoiled and then a feeling of determination settled over him. "Will it make you feel better to kill me?"

"Yes!" she hissed.

He nodded. "Then do it."

"Sam, no!" Missouri gasped.

Sam held up a hand. "If this is what you need, do it, but I want to warn you, it won't help. I know about revenge, and I know about guilt. You can't take a human life without consequence. I'm not talking about jail. I'm talking about the weight of that guilt. It will be on you all the time. You will never be rid of it. But if you still think that's something you need, you do it." He spread his arms a little wider, internally willing his words to work.

For a long moment, there was silence in the room, and then Elizabeth's head and arm lowered. Dean lurched forward and snatched the gun from her hand and expelled the bullets. Elizabeth began to cry, gasping sobs that were agonizing for Missouri to hear. She stepped around Sam and wrapped her arms around the traumatized woman. Elizabeth sobbed into her neck, and Missouri shushed and soothed her as best she could.

Over her shoulder she saw Dean move to Sam's side and lay a hand on his arm as if reassuring himself his brother was okay.

"We'll go," Sam murmured.

Missouri nodded.

There was a fluttering sound and Missouri and Elizabeth were alone.

* * *

That evening Missouri heard the rumble of an engine approaching and cutting off. After a moment there was a knock on the door. She eased herself out of the chair and walked through the hall to open the door, knowing who was going to be there before she saw him.

Sam Winchester stood a few feet back on the porch, his expression grim.

"Come on in, Sam," Missouri said calmly. "You want a drink? I have some chamomile tea."

"No thanks," Sam said quietly.

Missouri closed her eyes for a moment. Even without reading his mind, she knew how he was feeling, as he wore his guilt like a cloak. She led him into the living room and gestured him into a seat. He perched on the edge of the couch and clasped his hands between his knees. Missouri sat opposite him.

"No Dean?" she asked.

Sam shook his head. "He's at home. I wanted to talk to you."

"I know," she said sadly.

Sam smiled slightly. "Of course you do."

"I don't need to hear it, Sam."

"I need to say it though," Sam said desperately. "Please."

"She leaned back in her seat. "Okay. Go ahead."

"I am so sorry. I never imagined what I did could come back on you. If I thought it would, I would have protected you."

"You did today," she said. "You stepped in front of that gun for me."

"I was almost too late."

"You weren't though. You got here in time. I'm okay and Elizabeth isn't a murderer."

"Elizabeth," he said in a musing tone. "I didn't even know her name. After everything I did to her, I didn't know her name."

"Why would you?" she asked. "She was one among many."

Sam winced.

"Sam, I want you to listen to me, and listen good. What happened to that woman wasn't all down to you. The demon possessing her takes a share of the blame. So does that Ruby. It shares out."

"Doesn't feel like it," Sam said.

She sighed. "Will you do something for me, Sam?"

"Anything," Sam said fervently.

"Forgive yourself. You have been so different since you got back. So happy, and that's made the people that love you happy. Don't let this ruin that for you all. Be happy still. If you find forgiveness, you will find peace again."

"I don't know if I can," he said. "That poor woman. And all the others I hurt. So many people died because of me."

"No!" she said forcefully. "Because of demons! You tried to set them free. None of them died because of what you did to them."

"We can't know that," Sam said. "I tortured them."

Missouri shook her head and came at the problem from a different angle. "If you had to do it all again, knowing only what you knew then, would you do things differently?"

"No," Sam said. "If I thought it would save Dean, I'd still do it."

"Then there is nothing to forgive. You already have."

Sam bowed his head. "Does that make me a terrible person?"

"No," she said sadly. "It makes you a brother."

Sam smiled slightly, and Missouri felt a wave of relief. It was such a small thing, but it was enough for her. Sam would go back to Dean and Dean would bring back the brother that had been there since he got out of Hell. Perhaps he would have a few new nightmares, but he would live with them, because that was the price he thought he had to pay for his brother.

 **So… What do you think? I knew I wanted to revisit Sam's history in this story as I felt I was important for him to see as well as the others in his life how far he has come.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx  
**


	18. Chapter 18

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for working your beta magic on this for me. Also thanks to Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for helping me outline and edit.**

 **This is the last MOTW chapter. From here on out we'll be working toward the finale. Hope you enjoy x**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Eighteen**_

When Dean shouldered open their motel room door, his hands weighed down with coffees and a sack of food, Sam's head snapped up and a flash of something indefinable flashed across his features before he schooled it into a smile. "Hey."

Dean smiled back but it was forced. Sam had been stewing again, mulling over what had happened to Missouri. Missouri was fine. Dean knew this because Sam had sent Castiel in to check on her every day since they'd left her. She was fine; Sam wasn't. He was fixating on what _could_ have happened.

Dean had his own nightmares about it, too. Nightmares in which Castiel hadn't heard the prayer, they hadn't gotten there in time, and Missouri had been killed. It could have happened so easily. He'd had another nightmare, too, in which the woman hadn't been convinced by what Sam had said. She had pulled the trigger on him and Sam had been shot. Selfishly, that was the one that really scared Dean.

He understood how Sam felt, as he would have felt the same, but he wished his brother could make peace with it. He had before. When he got out of the cage, he'd been so different, and Dean had to think that was because he knew he'd paid his dues in Hell.

What he thought Sam really needed was some time with Ellen, but they'd only gone back to The Roadhouse long enough to pick up the Impala and say goodbye before Sam had gotten them on the road and hunting again—saving lives as if he was on a mission to save them all. When the coordinates for the Oregon town they were in now came through on Sam's phone, he'd had latched onto them as their next case.

Dean set the bags down and rooted through them for Sam's lunch. He snapped the laptop closed and placed the plastic container down onto the table. "Eat, Sam."

Sam peeled back the tape holding the fork to the lid and began to eat absentmindedly, his eyes distant. Dean settled with his own burger and watched Sam for a moment before deciding he needed to snap him out of it.

"You find anything?" he asked.

Sam looked blank. "Sorry?"

"The case, Sam. The thing you spent the last hour researching."

"Oh… Oh, yeah. I finally got the PD pages open. They actually had pretty good security for a change." He set aside his salad and opened the laptop again. Dean sighed. Him and his mouth. "There have actually been nine deaths recently all together, not just the three we tagged."

"Why weren't those reported?" Dean asked.

"Probably because the victims were homeless and they supposedly died of natural causes."

"You don't think so?"

Sam shook his head. "I think it's a pretty big coincidence that there have been _nine_ deaths in a town of this size and they're all marked up as the unexplainable favorite—cardiac arrest. It's a bullshit excuse! I don't know how they get away with it." He sighed and rubbed his temples.

"Headache?" Dean asked.

"No," Sam said too quickly. "I'm fine."

Dean sighed and picked up his coffee. Sam was lying. Sure, it was just a stupid denial, and it wasn't the first time Sam had played down pain, but it was the mindset beneath that Dean worried about. If Sam was denying pain because of some bullshit macho thing, great. If he was denying it because he felt he deserved it, they would have a problem. He didn't know how to ask though. Even a couple weeks ago, before the Missouri thing, he could have asked, but Sam wasn't the same now.

"Okay," Dean said. "Where do you want to start?"

"The morgue. I want to see if we can get a look at the latest body." He flipped through his notes. "Woman called Mary Magdalene."

Dean choked on his coffee. He coughed and massaged his chest and then rasped, "Seriously?"

Sam smiled slightly. "No. Well, yeah, that's what they called her, but I'm pretty sure it's a false name. No parent would be that cruel, and she was a private hire masseuse."

"Hooker?"

"Hooker," Sam said a little sadly, leaning back in his chair. "You finish eating then we'll head out."

Dean shook his head. " _You_ finish eating and then we'll head out. You need to take care of yourself, Sam."

"Yeah, yeah." Sam picked up his fork and prodded unenthusiastically at his salad before taking a bite.

Dean counted it a small win.

* * *

Even after rejoining the hunting life five years ago and visiting many, Dean couldn't relax in a morgue. There was something about the chilly air and the wealth of stainless steel that made him count the minutes until he could leave.

He'd met every kind of medical examiner, too. Some were somber and severe; others were more relaxed and friendly. There was never any way of knowing what you were going to get, so when they were greeted by a rotund man with a neat reddish beard with gray threads and kind blue eyes, he was pleased.

"Gentlemen," he said, greeting them in the foyer to the morgue. "Doctor Eugene Clark. How can I help you?" Sam and Dean showed their badges and he cast them a passing glance before his smile grew wider. "Feds? Not often I see you boys. There's not much need for it in our little town."

Dean responded to his smile with one of his own. "I don't imagine there is."

"So, why are you here?" he asked.

"We need to see your recent cardiac arrests," Sam said.

"Aw, that's going to be difficult," he said. "I've only got the one on ice right now. You can see her though."

Sam frowned. "Have they been claimed then?"

"No, they were taken to Taylor and Sons Funeral home for disposal. That's the protocol for unclaimed deceased here, as I'm sure you agents know."

Dean nodded quickly to cover their lapse. "Of course. Well, if we could see the latest that would be very helpful."

"Come on through."

They walked into a second room where the anticipated steel was in full force and the air was even cooler. Doctor Clark opened one of the refrigerator doors and pulled out a sliding tray with a covered body on it. The new blast of cold air made Dean shiver. Doctor Clark pulled back the sheet and said, "Our Mary," a hint of sadness in his voice.

"Did you know her well?" Sam asked.

Doctor Clark looked scandalized. "No, Sir. I'm a good husband and churchgoer. Mary was a well-known local face though. Always had a smile for us."

Dean turned his attention to the body and he felt a wave of sadness for her. She couldn't have been more than thirty, much younger than he'd expected. Her blonde hair would have given her an ethereal look if not for the pallor of her skin and blue tinge to her lips. Dean thought she would have been beautiful in life, but in death she was pathetic, a waste. He wondered what kind of turn her life had taken for her to end up in this morgue, unclaimed. Surely she had people in her life who had loved her once.

Sam pulled the sheet lower, exposing the Y-shaped incision, and examined her with a professional eye.

"Are you looking for something in particular?" Doctor Clark asked.

"No," Sam said in a musing voice, without looking up. "But I think I found it." He pointed to a small bruise in the crook of the woman's elbow. "What's this?"

Doctor Clark peered down the mark and shook his head. "I'm sorry to say that it's probably a needle mark."

Sam looked up at him, eyebrows raised. "Yes…" he said slowly.

"What I mean is that it's probably a self administered needle mark. I'm afraid Mary was also known for her… troubles as well as being a sweet-natured person."

"She was a drug addict?" Dean asked.

He nodded. "Tragic."

"I assume you've sent toxicology samples off," Sam said.

"Actually, no. I will though, of course, but I'm willing to bet they will find the presence of heroin at least."

Sam nodded thoughtfully. "Thank you for your time. We'll be leaving." Sam made for the door.

Surprised by the suddenness of their exit, Dean turned to the doctor and quickly handed him a business card. "When you get the results in, can you call us? Thank you," he said then hurried after Sam.

He stayed quiet until he was at the car and then he said, "What was that about?"

"It wasn't drugs that killed her," Sam said. "There was _one_ needle mark. If she was a regular user, there would be more—track marks."

Dean climbed into the car and waited until Sam was situated beside him before answering. "Not necessarily. I saw a lot of people with drug problems when I was working, and there are ways to hide it. People inject in all kinds of places—between toes even."

Sam nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, maybe, but…"

"But what?"

"There's a reason we were sent these coordinates. Whoever did it saw a case here. They wouldn't have sent us after a tainted drug chain. Dad wouldn't."

Dean frowned slightly. "It's not Dad though, Sam."

"I know," he said quickly. "I just mean… It's got to be more than that for us to have been sent."

Dean thought maybe Sam was just seeing a case where he needed one to be. If he could solve something and save some lives, he'd maybe feel better. But then he remembered the Hag hunt. Sam had been sure it wasn't drugs when he and Jo had been convinced, and he'd been right.

"Okay," he said. "We'll poke around a little more while we wait for the tox screen results to come in. We could talk to some of Mary's friends. The doc said she was well-known.

Sam nodded and started the engine. It rumbled to life and he reversed out of their spot and made for the road.

In a way, Dean hoped it was more than just drugs, as Sam needed to save some lives to pull him out of his funk.

* * *

There was something pathetic about the seedy side of the town at night. Men and women with defeated eyes dressed to allure rather than combat the cold weather. Some of them were so young they should be in college if not home with their parents still. Dean was never more thankful for his father and Sonny than when faced with other people's damaged lives.

Sam and Dean had agreed it was better that they change out of their fed suits to find someone to speak to, as people were less likely to talk if they thought they were going to get into trouble. They'd also gathered together what cash they had on them for bribes.

They were watched appraisingly as they walked along the street, assessed as customers. Dean saw one girl that he thought looked like she belonged in high school still, and he felt a wave of sadness for her as she smiled at his approach. Sam saw where he was going and followed, making the girl's smile fade.

"I don't do double ups," she said determinedly, crossing her arms over her chest. "It's not safe."

"We're not here for that," Dean said quickly. "We just want to talk to you."

Her eyes narrowed. "You one of those lonely weirdoes that talks all night and then pays half? Because I'm not interested, thanks. Besides, you can talk to your buddy."

"Not lonely either," Dean said. "We want to talk to you about someone who died recently. Mary. Did you know her?"

The girl nodded slowly and tears filled her eyes. "Ma, you mean."

"She was your mother?" Sam asked.

"She was everyone's mother," the girl said. "She took care of us all."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Dean said sincerely. "We're… curious about her death." He was careful not to say they were cops, afraid that would shut her down. "Would you be willing to come somewhere with us so we can talk to you?"

"I knew it!" she snapped. "You are weirdoes."

"No," Dean said. "I mean a diner or somewhere. We will pay you for your time, and we can get you something to eat. Are you hungry?"

She nodded slowly. "A diner. With other people, yeah?"

"Just somewhere we can talk and get you a decent meal," Dean said.

"Okay," she said. "I know a place." She looked back up the street to where the Impala was parked. "We're walking though. I'm not getting in a car with you."

"Very sensible," Dean said. "How about you lead the way."

She cast him a wary glance and then led them back along the street. They walked in silence until they reached the brightly lit Main Street where there was a diner with lights burning in the windows, despite the hour. Dean pushed open the door and gestured her in ahead of him. She looked wary as she went in and made for a booth by the window. She slid into it and watched as Dean and Sam sat down on the opposite bench.

A waitress came over to them, a kindly looking woman Dean guessed was in her fifties. She smiled at them and asked, "What can I get you?"

"Two coffees, please, and whatever she's having," Sam said.

The girl didn't even glance at the menu before ordering. "Bacon cheeseburger, extra fries, a chocolate malt and whatever pie you've got."

Dean smiled. "A girl after my own heart. Make that two for the pie."

"Sure thing, hon," the waitress said, writing their order on a small pad of paper and smiling at them before walking back to the counter.

Dean leaned back in his seat and smiled gently at her. "So, you mind telling us a little about Mary?"

She looked down at the tabletop. Her voice was soft as she asked. ""What do you want to know about her?"

"Was she on drugs?" Sam asked, and Dean was surprised that his voice was gentle rather than accusatory as he'd expected.

"No!" she said passionately. "Never. Ma hated drugs."

Sam looked neutral but Dean saw satisfaction in his eyes.

"When did you last see her?" Sam asked.

"The night before they found her. She took a client and I never saw her again."

"What can you tell me about the person that she went with?" Dean asked.

She considered for a moment, before answering. "He was younger than her usual; looked like a college kid. I'd never seen him before. He had red hair and was really skinny. Not hot."

The waitress returned to their table then and set down their plates and drinks from a tray. "You enjoy," she said.

Dean smiled up at her and picked up fork to take a bite of his pie.

The girl practically fell on her burger, confirming Dean's suspicion she hadn't had a good meal for a while.

Sam sipped his coffee and stared distractedly out of the window for a moment before reaching into his pocket. He took his wallet out and emptied the notes inside. He surreptitiously slid the pile under her pie plate and gave her a smile. "You take care of yourself. Maybe stay off the streets for a few days."

She frowned. "Why?"

"Because it's not safe right now," Sam said.

* * *

Dean was shaken awake the next morning by Sam. He jerked upright, nearly head-butting Sam. "What? What's wrong?" he asked.

"You were having a nightmare," Sam said. "You okay?"

Dean flopped back against his pillows and sighed. "Yeah, fine." It had been the Missouri dream again; Sam had been shot. He glanced at his watch and said, "It's early. What are you doing awake?"

"I couldn't sleep," Sam said. "Thought I'd go for a run, but something came over the scanner. Another body's been found."

"Damn." Dean rolled out of bed and raked a hand over his face, brushing away the last of his sleepiness.

"Suit up and we'll see what we can find out." Sam was already buttoning up his dress shirt.

Dean pulled off his tee shirt and made his way into the bathroom.

Ten minutes later they were on the road.

All they knew was that the body had been found in an alley in the red light district of the town and it was a woman. Neither of them was expecting what they found there.

They introduced themselves to the cop guarding the mouth of the alley, flashed their badges, and were allowed to pass. There were two cops standing by the sheet covered body, fingers hitched in belts and self-important expressions. Sam and Dean showed their badges again and the officers stepped back to allow them access. A pale, thin fingered hand was peeking out from under the sheet, sad and pathetic looking. Sam squatted and pulled back the sheet to reveal the face, and then the color drained from his own.

It was the girl they'd spoken to. The practical child that they bought a meal and Sam had slipped some money with the advice that she stay off the streets.

Dean swallowed hard and pushed down the sadness that wanted to overwhelm him. There wasn't much that would out them as fake FBI faster than crying for the loss of life.

Exceptionally gently, Sam turned her arm so the crook of her elbow was exposed. There was a small purple bruise there. Sam covered her with the sheet again and straightened.

"Do you have an ID?" he asked the cops.

"All we know is she was calling herself Rebecca around here. Could be a false name. She had no ID on her, only an ICE number on her phone for another… worker. Unfortunately, she was died few days ago, too."

"Mary?" Sam asked.

He nodded. "Overdose from what I hear. Looks like she's another."

"It wasn't drugs," Sam said bitterly.

The cops shared an amused look and said. "Of course we won't know that until Eugene has done his thing, but all the signs point that way. It's not uncommon for these kinds of… people… to have their addictions."

Dean bit back an angry retort at the doubtful emphasis that he put on the word. These _were_ people. Just because their lives had taken a turn and they weren't living the same way these cops and their friends were, it didn't make them worth any less.

Sam's hands shook, and Dean knew he was fighting down his anger, too. He took Sam's arm and tugged gently, much to the bemusement of the cops. He could feel the tension in Sam, but he allowed himself to be led away, out of the alley and back to the car.

He left Sam to drive, thinking it would give him something else to focus on, but when Sam slid into the seat, he didn't start the engine. He slammed a fist down into the dash and shouted. "Shit!"

Dean's own anger freed itself then, too, and he fisted his hands on his lap, his short nails biting into his palms.

"I told her!" Sam growled. "I told her to stay off the streets!"

"I know," Dean said sadly. "We did what we could, Sam."

"No, doing what we could would have been bringing her back to the motel and getting her a room where we could keep an eye on her. Why didn't we? We just fed her, paid her, and let her walk off to her death."

"She would never have come. We could hardly get her to accept a meal," Dean said reasonably.

"We should have done more! We could have saved her from… that!" He sagged in his seat and bowed his head. "We don't even know where she is now."

"What do you mean?"

"If she got a rogue Reaper, she could be in Hell, powering Crowley's war machine."

Dean hadn't considered that. He felt horrified. That poor girl—Rebecca, he reminded himself—could be in the pit, suffering on the rack already.

Sam took a breath and closed his eyes for a moment; when they opened they roiled with emotion but his face was calm—blank, a mask. Dean hated it. Sam started the engine and they pulled away from the curb.

They were halfway down the street when Dean's phone rang. He answered and a cheerful voice said, "Agent Plant? It's Eugene Clark. I got the tox results back and I thought you'd like to know there _was_ presence of heroin in the blood. An astonishing amount actually. The amount would have killed almost instantly through asphyxiation."

"Not cardiac arrest then," Dean said.

"Nope," he said cheerfully. "My mistake. Thankfully you boys came through before I could make my official report. Boy, would I have looked stupid."

"Yeah, lucky," Dean said angrily.

"Well, just thought you boys would like to know. I heard over the wire that I've got another guest on the way. Will you gentlemen be coming to visit again, too?"

"No," Dean said. "We already saw her."

"Okey dokey. You fellas take care."

Dean ended the call and said, "Massive amount of heroin in the blood."

Sam shook his head jerkily, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel. "No. That's not it."

"You think he's lying?" Dean asked.

"No, I think there was drugs. I just don't think Mary put them there." He glanced at Dean. "Think, Dean, Rebecca was so against them because of Mary."

"I know," Dean sighed, but this gave them a new problem. No creature they hunted would be dosing people with heroin to kill them.

Sam drove them right past their motel, and Dean said, "You missed the turn."

"We're not going back yet," Sam said. "We need to speak to the cops."

Dean turned in his seat and said, "What are you thinking?"

"Someone is killing, not something, which means we actually need the cops' help for a change. They need to actually do their jobs and protect the people."

They pulled into the parking lot of a grey brick building and Sam cut the engine. He straightened his tie in the mirror and then climbed out. Dean blew out a breath and followed.

The PD was like any other Dean had visited with Sam—coffee scented air, voices and suspicion of the men in suits. They were expected though. The cops at the crime scene must have radioed back in as the receptionist showed no surprise when they introduced themselves. He just called through to the chief, announcing that he had visitors. They were gestured through to an office at the back of the room that housed the rest of the officers.

The chief was a portly man that Dean guessed from the lines around his eyes was in his fifties. His hair was so uniformly black that Dean suspected it had been dyed. He shook their hands and said, "What can I do for you gentlemen?"

Sam took a seat uninvited and said, "We're going to need you to increase your presence in the warehouse district of town."

"The _red light_ district of town, you mean?" he said, his eyes amused. Dean knew there and then that it wasn't going to end well.

Sam stiffened. "Yes."

"And why would I do that, agent?"

"Because people are dying."

The chief shook his head slowly. "I just talked with our Eugene this morning. These deaths are due to drug overdoses. As much as I'd like to be able to save them from that, I can't. Besides, they aren't doing their vices out in the open. These people usually are a little more covert. We can't police the whole town—including private homes—to stop them doing it."

"The deaths aren't from self-administered drugs, though," Sam said. These people are being murdered."

The chief raised an eyebrow. "And what makes you think that?"

"We spoke to Rebecca, the latest victim, last night and she made it clear both she and Mary would never use drugs. She said Mary hated them."

"And I could say I'm a koala. Doesn't make it true." He shook his head. "I'm sorry, agents, but the facts are it was a probably accidental overdose. She got a client, she got some money, she got high, she died. It's tragic but it's the truth."

Sam's hands clenched in his lap for a moment, then he took a breath and spoke calmly. "And it doesn't seem suspicious to you that there have been so many deaths in town recently?"

He patted a folder on his desk and said, "Eugene's reports say there were all down to heroin. I suspect there is a tainted chain on the streets at the moment—more potent than what they are used to and that's what's killing them."

"You won't increase your patrols?" Sam asked.

"I will not. There's no need to stretch my officers when they're already under a lot of strain."

Sam's jaw tightened but he nodded stiffly. "Then we're done. Thank you for your time."

He stood and made for the door. Dean got up quickly and followed, not wasting a word of goodbye on the chief.

They got out to the car and Sam tossed Dean the keys. Dean caught them and climbed in on the driver's side. "Motel?" he asked.

"Anywhere away from that dick."

Only when they were back in the motel and Sam had loosened the knot of his tie and thrown his jacket down onto the bed did he speak. ""Someone's killing these people."

"Yeah," Dean said. "I know. But it's a person, not an it. I know we got the coordinates, but, Sammy, no monster is going to kill like this."

"You're probably right, but that doesn't mean it's over. Someone has to stop this."

"We're not actually cops. We can't arrest people. What are we going to do?"

Sam looked at him darkly. "We do what we do best. We save people."

"By killing another?" Dean asked. "We can't kill a human. I know you're upset about Rebecca, but—"

"They killed her," Sam said doggedly. "They have to be stopped."

Dean squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed a hand across his forehead. The tension was giving him a headache. "We can't kill a human."

"Can't we?" he asked, and then answered his own question. "No, we can't. But we have to do something. This place has the dumbest ME and laziest cops I've ever met. Did you hear him? The _red light_ district _._ Like it makes them worth any less because of what they do to make money."

"I agree, but what can we do? He's not going to add the cops to the area."

Sam sighed and flopped down onto the bed "We do it ourselves. We find who's doing the killing and we stop them."

"How?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. "We frame them. If we can get them caught out with enough drugs to count for intent to supply, they'll get a while, right?"

"Bad enough judge, life," Dean said.

Sam smiled beatifically. "Sounds like a good start to me."

* * *

There was no denying they weren't welcome in the warehouse district that night. Though they'd changed from their suits and were lurking out of the way—Sam taking an alley and Dean a recessed doorway—they were garnering glares from the people plying their trade. After two hours of waiting in silence, a woman broke off from the group and came toward Dean. She was older than the others, and Dean guessed she was, like Mary, one of the protectors of the group. She stomped up to him in her red stilettos and crossed her arms over her barely covered chest.

"You looking for company?" she asked, her tone alluring.

"No, thank you," Dean said quickly.

"I didn't think so. Which begs the question, what the hell you are doing here, ruining our night's trade? You're not in the business, I can tell, and you're no cop, so what do you want?"

"Me and my brother, we're here to help," Dean said. "We don't believe Mary and Rebecca's deaths were accidental. We want to stop whatever's happening."

Her eyes misted and she said in a soft voice, "You can do that?"

"We can," Dean said. "Is there anything you can tell us which will help?"

She bit her lip, seemingly afraid to answer. Dean started to say, "You can trust me," but then Sam shouted his name and Dean heard racing footsteps.

He sprinted away from the woman, down a side road toward the sound, and saw Sam catch a gangly looking man around the shoulder and spin him around. Dean saw he was less of a man and more of a kid. He had red hair and pale skin, and he was struggling with Sam. Sam kept one hand tightly on his shoulder and with the other he slammed a fist into the side of the kid's head. Dean expected him to go down; Sam was strong and the sound of impact made it clear he wasn't pulling his punch, but the kid remained standing. Not only that, he wasn't even stunned. He was still struggling. Dean caught him around the chest and pinned his arms at his sides. He was strong, damn strong, too much so to be human, Dean thought. Sam slammed a fist into him again, and Dean felt the impact rock through him via the thing he was holding. The kid crumpled, and suddenly Dean was the only thing holding him up. He wanted to push the thing away from him, but he forced his grip to remain solid around it.

"What is it?" he asked Sam.

"No idea," Sam said, rubbing his fisted hand. "Broke a knuckle on its head though. Come on, let's get it somewhere quiet before it wakes up."

* * *

The creature was tied to a chair in the center of an old and empty warehouse. It was still unconscious, but Dean suspected it wasn't going to be for long, as the pace of its breathing had picked up.

"Hurry up, Sam," Dean said, watching as his brother rooted through its pockets.

Sam straightened and held out a handful of foil wraps, a syringe, a wallet, and a small bottle.

Dean took one of the wraps and unfolded it. It held a small quantity of light brown powder. He shook it onto the floor and threw away the foil disgustedly. "Heroin," he spat.

Sam nodded and uncapped the bottle. He brought it to his nose and sniffed then thrust it away. "Chloroform. I guess we know how he's getting them docile enough to inject them."

"Why though?" Dean asked.

"Let's find out." Sam slapped its cheek hard and stepped back.

The creature laughed as it opened its eyes. "Think you can hurt me?" it asked.

"Know I can," Sam said. "Just need to find the right buttons to press."

"What are you?" Dean asked.

"You don't know? What kind of hunters are you?"

"The good kind," Sam said. "The kind that put down animals like you all the time." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife that Dean knew was made of silver. He ran it over the creature's cheek, drawing blood, but there was no other reaction.

"You're never going to work it out," the creature laughed.

Sam looked annoyed, but didn't react. He just bent to the duffel he'd brought and pulled out a leather case. He took out a small black bladed knife and held it up. The creature flinched. "Where did you get that?" it asked.

Sam smiled, satisfied. "A museum." He cut slowly across its arm and the skin flared and sparked

"Ghoul," Dean said. "Why the hell would a ghoul be killing people with drugs?"

The ghoul laughed. "You're so damn stupid. Why do you think? It enhances the meat. It makes us feel good."

Sam thrust the obsidian knife into the ghoul's thigh and it bellowed in pain.

"You animal," Sam snarled. "She was a kid. Just a girl!"

The ghoul laughed. "She was meat. Just meat."

"Kill it, Sam," Dean said harshly. "Get it done with."

The ghoul glanced up at him. "You can kill me if you like, but you'll regret it. I'm not alone."

"Then we'll kill them, too," Sam said.

"Let me go and we'll skip town. Go back to eating the dead."

"Yeah? " Sam asked, and Dean gaped at him; he couldn't believe Sam was even considering it. "How can we be sure?"

"I swear," the ghoul said.

Sam nodded thoughtfully. "How about another deal? I stab. You die." He thrust the blade into the creature's chest, right over the heart. The ghoul's head flew back and it's eyes burned with light. As Sam pulled the knife free, it's head dropped so its chin rested against its chest.

"Though for a moment you were going to let it go," Dean admitted.

Sam shook his head. "No need. I already know who the other is."

"Who?" Dean asked.

"Take a good look at him."

Dean did, seeing the pale skin, blue eyes, narrow jaw, red hair. "No!" he gasped.

Sam nodded and flipped open the wallet. "Andrew Clark. I think it's time for us to pay the good doctor another visit." He shouldered the duffel and walked away.

The workers were still out in force and as he passed, Dean smiled at the girl who had spoken to him before. "You're going to be safe now," he whispered.

* * *

"It's a foolproof setup," Sam said. "The doc does the autopsies and gives them whatever cause of death he wants—vague as possible. Then he can siphon the bodies off wherever he likes. These two have been eating and getting high. I'll bet this isn't even their first town. The real Doc and his son are probably dead, and the ghouls have taken up their identities."

Dean shook his head. "Smart monsters. Awesome."

"Not too smart to get caught," Sam said. "We've got one down, and the doc can't know we're coming for him. Thanks to Ash, we know where we're going and what we're dealing with. We're taking them out."

He pulled onto the road out of town and followed the directions Dean had pulled up on his phone to the doctor's address.

Dean was feeling angry and frustrated that he hadn't worked out what was happening sooner. They could have saved Rebecca. The only comfort they had was that there would be no more deaths. There had already been too many though, and Rebecca had been so young.

"Take a left," Dean said.

Sam obeyed and they pulled onto a gravel track with trees lining it. It was obviously an expensive place, even more so because of the privacy it afforded. Dean thought it was good that it was, as it would be easier for them to take out the ghoul without being seen.

Suddenly, Sam slammed on the brakes and they jerked to a halt. "Oh, shit," he breathed.

Outside the large house was a group of four people. One of them was the prostitute Dean had spoken to before. The others were the doctor, another young man, and a motherly looking type. Three of them were armed with kitchen knives and in the young man's hands was a baseball bat.

"Shit," Dean said as they started to advance on them, "not just father and son."

Sam closed his eyes, muttered, "I'm sorry, Dean," and then slammed his foot down on the gas. They shot forward. The ghouls tried to jump out of the way, but the car caught the doctor and motherly looking one. There was a bump and thud as the car rose and fell and a sickening crunch sound.

Sam slapped the obsidian knife into Dean's hand and threw himself out of the car. The prostitute threw herself at Dean and he shoved the knife through her ribs into her heart.

There was a grunt of pain and Dean saw the kid with the baseball bat swinging at Sam. Dean launched into action, thrusting out an arm and catching the ghoul in the back. It didn't kill, but it arched away, effectively pulling out the knife as it did. Sam grabbed the bat from the ground where it had been dropped and smashed it into the ghoul's head. The ghoul dropped, stunned but still stirring, and Sam raised it again. Dean turned and saw the doctor pulling itself toward him on the ground, a knife clenched in his hand. Its legs were being dragged along useless behind him. Dean suspected its back had been broken. With a quick, undeservedly merciful movement, Dean stabbed it in the back of the neck, killing it. He looked for the last, the motherly looking one, and saw what remained of her head, a gory spatter under the wheel of the Impala.

Someone touched his arm and Dean spun around, quickly, the knife clutched in his hand. It was only Sam, his right arm clutched against his chest and a somber expression on his face.

"It's over, Dean," he said. "They're dead."

Dean realized only then that he was panting; the bloodlust was still high in him.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Sam nodded. "Nothing Cas can't fix."

Dean closed his eyes took a breath and looked down at the massacre that was the ghouls and then his eyes fell on the Impala. Apart from being spattered with blood and a broken headlight, she was okay. They were okay.

The people the ghouls had once been weren't. Rebecca wasn't, nor Mary, but they had at least been avenged.

"Dean," Sam said quietly.

"Yeah, Sammy."

"I think it's time we went home."

Dean smiled slightly. That was what they both needed: familiar sights and sounds, Ellen, Jo and Ash, and a little time to rest and recover.

* * *

 **So… This chapter was heavily influenced by an idea SandraEngstrom2 had of a 'tart with a heart'. I think it came out pretty good, what do you think?**

 **Seen the episode? Come squee/shout/lament choices with me. I will be lurking in my inbox.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	19. Chapter 19

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing this for me, and SandraEngstrom2 and Gredelina1 for all your help.**

 **Thank you also to all of you that are still reading and supporting the story. Not much more to go now.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Nineteen**_

Ellen knew her boys. She knew what they looked like when they were happy and how it looked when their hearts were breaking, as she'd seen it before. She could tell, when they got back from their last hunt, that it was sadness that darkened their eyes, despite their smiles for her and hugs. Something had happened, and whatever it was, they were struggling with it still.

She gave them their time to get through it, but nothing seemed to improve over the course of the next two weeks they spent at The Roadhouse. They smiled and talked with her, Jo, Ash and other hunters, but they also spent long periods in silence together, communicating their sadness without words. Whatever had happened had obviously been bad, as Dean, the one who could usually pull himself up and out of moods, didn't seem able to. Not wanting to push them past their comfort, she didn't try to make them talk about it until the envelope from Stanford arrived.

She was in the kitchen, stirring a pan of eggs for breakfast. Sam was out running, and Dean was fetching the mail while Ash slept and Jo set up the bar. Dean came back into the room with a sheaf of envelopes in his hand and set them down on the counter.

"Anything good?" she asked.

Dean shrugged and flipped through them. "What looks like a bill, that postcard from Jo finally showed up—took a month, damn mail—junk, and… whoa!"

Ellen spun to face him. "What?"

In answer, he held up the envelope, showing her the return address: Stanford University.

"Oh my God!" she gasped. "Oh God!" She grabbed it from his hand, clutched it to her chest, and then slowly lowered it.

Dean nodded and swallowed hard. "Yeah."

Tears sprang to Ellen's eyes. This could be it, her boy's freedom. It could get him out of the life for good. It could save hislife. She wanted it desperately for him.

"The eggs are burning." Dean stepped around her and took the pan from the stove, dumping the ruined eggs in the trash and the pan in the sink.

Ellen took in his expression and she frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Dean said quickly.

"Something's wrong," she insisted.

Dean raked a hand over his face. "This is big. If that letter says what I think it does, this is huge, and I don't know if…" He sighed.

"Don't you want this for him still?"

Dean turned wild eyes on her. "I want it; I want it so bad, but I don't know if he does anymore. He might have changed his mind."

"Has he said that to you?" Ellen asked, feeling her hopes and dreams bursting like soap bubbles.

"Not in words, no. But I don't know if he will still want to leave the life anymore.

"Why?"

"Because of our last hunt."

Ellen took a deep breath and set the envelope down on the middle of the table. She sat down and gestured for Dean to do the same. He hesitated a moment before he did, then he blew out a noisy breath and said, "It was coordinates again. We didn't know who sent them, but we followed them to Oregon. There was this group of ghouls in town. They'd taken over the identity of a family and were killing with drugs so they could get some kind of buzz when they fed. It was messed up, disgusting, and a lot of people died, but the last was the worst. She was just a kid and we'd tried to help her; Sam had even given her some money to keep her off the streets. She didn't listen though. They found her in a filthy alleyway, left there like she was trash." He sucked in a shaky breath and Ellen patted his arm.

"You did your best," she said.

"I know, I do, it's just that she died, and we don't know where she ended up—Heaven or Hell—because we couldn't save her in time. If we quit the life, go to work and college, we're leaving other people to the monsters, too."

Ellen would have been lying if she'd said she hadn't been expecting this issue to rear its head at some point. She'd prepared her arguments for it, too, but she knew Dean wasn't really the person who needed to hear them.

"You must have talked about this before though," she said. "When Sam decided to apply."

"We did," Dean said. "It's just now those people have faces, and one of them is this young girl's."

The kitchen door opened and Sam came in, flushed and sweaty from his run. He looked from face to face and frowned. "What's happened?"

"Nothing new," Dean said quickly.

Sam nodded and his eyes fell on the envelope on the table. Ellen saw the gleam in his eyes that was quickly quashed and replaced by nothing. He was shutting down.

"This came," Ellen said hopefully, picking it up and handing it to him.

He took it, glanced once at the address, and then set it down on the table again.

Ellen's heart sank. "Sam," she said dolefully.

Sam pulled his phone from his pocket and held it up. "We got some new coordinates."

Dean nodded and pushed himself to his feet. "I'll get packed up."

"Wait!" Ellen said harshly, pointing a finger at him. "Sit. Sam, you too."

Sam raised an eyebrow, but Ellen stared him down until he sighed and sat next to Dean.

"We need to talk," she said, pulling the envelope over to her and tapping it. "This is your future, Sam, your dream, everything you've wanted since you were a kid."

Sam nodded. "It was."

"No, is," she corrected. "I get it, Sam. You've been through something and it's made you think you can't step back from the life, but you _can_."

"People will die, Ellen," Sam said.

"People will always die! Right now, someone's dying. A vampire or shapeshifter or ghost—or it might be cancer or a heart attack or just plain old age —people die, Sam. You can't save them all. Even if the whole world were hunters, you couldn't save them all. You get one life and you have to make the most of it. Hell, Sam, you've saved the world. You deserve this rest now. There are other hunters that can take the cases. You can have some peace."

Sam's expression was stony, but his eyes showed his roiling emotions. He wanted this as much as he ever had, possibly more, but he was scared to take it. For a moment, Ellen thought he was going to speak. Dean was watching him hopefully. But then he just shook his head and pushed to his feet, looking at Dean.

"We've got work to do."

* * *

The drive from Nebraska had given Sam time to think over the letter that was waiting for him back at The Roadhouse. He wasn't sure how it was even possible after the disastrous aftermath of his interview, but someone had seen his file, even if the only response was to send him a letter saying he wasn't Stanford material. Like that was a shock. He didn't think anyone had ever been less like Stanford material. But he had wanted it so much. There was a part of him still that had wanted to grab at that envelope and tear it open to see if his dreams were going to come true, but he'd mastered himself. If he did that, Ellen would rejoice, and it would make it so much harder for her to accept that—whatever the letter said—it wasn't going to happen. He was a hunter. He saved lives. How could he have believed he could leave that behind?

The unusual thing about the coordinates they received this time was that there was nothing they could find in the area that would draw them in under normal circumstances. Ash said there had been a murder—a woman had bludgeoned her husband to death—but the police reports stated that she was a longtime victim of abuse, and they thought she'd just reached her limit.

They arrived in the city too late to do anything but find a motel and collapse into bed, and it was late when they woke and started their day. They thought they should at least check out the bludgeoning, though, so they put on their fed suits and prepared to head to the hospital to speak to the woman on the psych ward she'd been committed to.

Sam was adjusting his tie in the mirror when he heard the thud and he turned to see Dean sprawled on the floor in front of the door. He had taken one step toward him when he felt he impact on the back of his head and he fell forward, consciousness deserting him.

When his awareness returned, he didn't immediately remember what had happened. He kept his eyes closed and reached out with his other senses. He was lying on something firm and uncomfortable. The air was cool against his skin but it smelled musty and stale, which made him think he was inside somewhere. He opened his eyes and looked up at a dirty white ceiling.

With sight came memory, and he jerked upright, his brother's name ripping from him in a shout. "Dean!"

"Sam!" Dean's voice returned sounding like it was coming from a long way away.

Sam swung his legs around from what he saw now was a dirty and old-fashioned hospital bed. He made for the door of the small room in time for it to burst open and Dean to be revealed on the threshold.

"Oh, thank God," he said in a breathy voice, his arms flying around Sam and squeezing hard before he pulled back and asked, "You okay?"

Sam nodded automatically and asked, "You?"

Dean nodded. "My head aches like hell, but otherwise fine."

Sam brought a hand up to the back of his head and felt the throbbing knot there from where he'd been hit. "Did you see what jumped us?" he asked.

Dean shook his head. "No, but this was on my chest when I woke up." He held out a scrap of paper and Sam read it.

 _Winchesters, welcome to the Hunter Games. One rule: kill or be killed. Enjoy. M._

"Who's M?" Sam wondered.

Dean scowled. "I'm thinking you were right about who's sending the coordinates."

"Michael," Sam growled. "But why would he set us up like this?"

Dean shrugged. "Shits and giggles? I don't know. Maybe he's pissed about the fact we've come up with nothing for Crowley yet and he's taking his revenge in a really twisted way."

"By getting us killed?"

"He won't let that happen," Sam said confidently, then amended. "He won't let it stick anyway. If we're killed, he'll just drag us back again."

"Drag?" Dean asked, his voice stressed.

Sam ignored him "Besides, I don't think Michael is actually behind this. I'll bet anything it's that dick Zachariah using his name. It smacks of his bullshit."

Dean nodded his agreement. "Okay. One question though. What are we supposed to be killing?"

Just then, a voice howled along the corridor, "Winchesters!"

"You just had to ask," Sam said. He slammed the door shut and shoved Dean so he was standing with his back to it.

He patted down his pockets and checked his boot, but he knew at once he'd been stripped of his gun and the knife in his boot. He looked around desperately for something to use as a weapon. There was a solid looking chair under the window that would work for bludgeoning. He kicked that over to Dean and kept looking. There was an old fashioned cabinet beside the bed and, though Sam had no expectations it would hold anything useful, he ripped open the door and huffed a laugh. "It won't be a massacre at least," he said triumphantly. There was a machete tucked inside. He took it and moved across the room to slap it into Dean's hand. "There," he said, satisfied.

Dean glared at him. "And you're going to use… what?"

"Nothing right now," Sam said as the door started to rattle against Dean's back.

"Sam, we've no idea what we're dealing with out there."

"I'm hoping for demon," Sam said. If it was a demon, he'd be able to deal with it. "If it isn't, I think most things would be susceptible to decapitation. You ready?"

"Ready to what?"

"Let it in," Sam said.

Dean gaped at him. "Are you seriously enjoying this?"

Sam considered. He could feel the adrenaline rushing through his veins, making him feel alive and strong. "I think I am."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Awesome."

The decision of when to open the door was taken out of their hands then as it was shoved open and a vampire rushed in, its lips curled back over its secondary set of teeth. It rushed Sam and knocked him back against the wall, its fingers curling around his throat and squeezing. Sam rasped his brother's name, and then there was a whistle, a sound like a cleaver hitting a steak and then two separate thuds. Sam sucked in a burning breath and clapped Dean on the shoulder. "Thanks."

"You okay?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded and resisted the urge to massage his throat. "Fine."

"You know, the more times I hear you say that, the less I believe it," Dean said.

Sam shook his head. "I need a weapon. I'm guessing that Hunter Games means more than one vamp to contend with."

Dean nodded. "I'm guessing so." He looked around the room, but Sam had already seen there was nowhere else a weapon could have been hidden.

"Did you check your room?" Sam asked,

"No, I was too busy making sure you were alive. Think it's safe to check?"

"I think it's that or we wait here for a rescue that's never going to come."

"Rescue!" Dean said then he raised his eyes. "Castiel, we're outside Des Moines."

"We think," Sam interrupted.

"Yeah, we think. It's an abandoned hospital and there's monsters." He waited a moment, and then shook his head. "Nope."

"Not yet anyway," Sam said. "It's a big city to search, if we're even still there. Michael could have bumped us anywhere in the world."

"Yeah," Dean said, disheartened.

Sam made for the door and peered out. "Nothing so far," he said quietly.

Dean stepped around him and walked out of the room. Sam felt naked as he walked along the corridor behind Dean. He had no weapon in case something else jumped them. He had to put all his faith in Dean to protect him. If there was one person alive that he could trust to do it, then it was Dean, but that didn't make Sam feel completely safe. If he even had a knife, something he could hold on to…

They didn't speak as they walked. Sam felt vulnerable in the more open space. There were doors and rooms they were passing that could house any kind of nightmare. Dean led him into a room and Sam looked around. It was pretty much the same as the one he'd woken up in except for the fact there was no cabinet. He sighed quietly and pulled up the mattress in case anything had been left there. There was nothing. He slapped his hand down on the bed frame, frustrated, and then he laughed softly.

"Dean, watch the door," he said. "I'm going to be making some noise."

"Any reason?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, I'm getting myself a weapon." He took a few steps back and kicked at the corner of the old, metal bed frame. A bar snapped off and Sam pushed and pulled at it to break the opposite corner. It broke free and Sam smiled evilly."Now I'm ready."

* * *

They were back out in the corridor when Dean spotted the sigils on the wall and he sighed. "Well, at least we know why Cas isn't here," he said, pointing.

"There goes that then. Guess we're on our own." Sam cursed. "Damn. That also means it's not Michael."

"I know," Dean said. Michael wouldn't lock himself out of the building. "We'll be okay," he said.

"I know," Sam said confidently. "I'm just wondering what Cas is doing right now if not getting in here."

"He's probably… Oh. Ellen."

"Exactly. He's got to have gone to The Roadhouse for backup, and that means Ellen knows and Jo might even be on her way here."

Dean understood his concern. Ellen would be losing her mind with worry. She had been through so much, unable to do a thing to help them outside of emotional support, and it was happening all over again. They both wanted to spare her that as they wanted to spare Jo the risk of trying to come in after them.

Worry for Ellen became fear for himself and Sam as footsteps barreled up the corridor towards them. The creature looked female and she had silver eyes—a Kumiho. She launched herself at Sam, and he met her with a blow to the head from the bed end. She looked stunned for a minute and Dean used her momentary disorientation to cut off her head in a hacking movement. He felt slightly sickened as it thudded to the floor.

Sam gave it a scathing glance and then scraped at the painted sigil, breaking the clean lines of it, before setting off along the hall again.

Dean hurried after him to stand at his side, the machete gripped tightly in his hand.

The next thing to come for them was a djinn. Its tattooed body would have given away its identity even if its hand hadn't been glowing blue, ready to send one of them into a killing dream. Dean dealt with it quickly and they moved on to the staircase, working their way to the ground floor and hopefully an exit.

The attacks seemed to come faster the closer they got to the ground floor. Dean's arms started to ache from swinging the machete and the real fear began to set in. There were so many monsters. All it would take was one lucky blow and either of them could be beaten. And if Michael decided not to pull them back, or a Reaper got there and shoved them in the empty first, they were screwed. Gabriel hadn't been able to pull Sam back from the empty, and Death might not feel so accommodating next time.

Dean had just dispatched another monster, he wasn't sure the identity of it as it had no outward signs of its true nature, when Sam pulled them to a stop.

"What?" Dean asked.

Sam pointed. There was a sign marked _Exit_ on the wall. "I think we're almost out," he said.

Dean sighed with relief. "Thank God."

"Don't think He had much to do with it. Come on."

They walked down a final set of stairs and into a large room Dean guessed was once the waiting area. There were still a few ancient chairs dotted around. There were large doors flanked by windows crusted with dirt, and Sam made straight for them. Just then a body flew out of a side door and rushed at Sam. Dean raced forward, the machete raised and ready, but the creature was too fast. It sank long, pointed teeth into Sam's throat. Dean cried out inarticulately and rushed forward, but the creature pulled back and held Sam in front of him like a human shield.

"Do it, Dean," Sam rasped, raising his foot ever so slightly from the ground. Dean knew what Sam was about to do, and he could only hope it worked as he raced forward at the same moment Sam slammed down a foot on the creature's instep. The creature dropped Sam and he fell forward onto the floor. Dean couldn't worry about that or the blood running down the side of Sam's neck from his wound; he had to kill. The blade slammed into the creature's neck and half decapitated it. He pulled the blade free and made another swing to finish the job. The creature dropped in two pieces and Dean hurried to Sam. He was already pushing himself to his feet though, hissing between his teeth.

"Damn Vetala," he said, picking up his bed end and walking to the wall where there was a sigil painted. It was the largest so far, and Dean hoped the last of the ones they'd been destroying as they'd made their way down through the levels.

As Sam scraped at the sigil, there was a slow handclap.

Dean saw Sam's color fade as a familiar and distinctive voice spoke from the corner.

"Sam Winchester, bleeding out, again."

* * *

Sam felt sick. It was a nightmare. An old, horrific nightmare that he'd relived too many times. He looked and saw the demon. Through the pretty and stolen face, there was a rotted visage the like of which he had never seen. She was even more foul that than the elite they'd faced before.

"Meg," Dean spat.

"Hey, Dean," Meg said happily. "Good to see you again."

"This was you?" Dean asked. "You sent the coordinates? You trapped us here?"

"Clever you. Yes, I thought it was time we had a face-to-face. I could have just popped in to say hey, but I thought this was more fun. Doing okay there, Sam? Looking a little pale."

Sam glared at her. "I'm fine." He was feeling a little weak from the blood loss, but his anger overpowered it. The sheer fact he was facing her again made him want to strike out, to kill.

Dean moved slightly closer to him, their shoulders brushing. Sam couldn't help but feel comforted. As long as he could feel Dean there, he was okay and still with him.

"So, down to business," Meg said. "I've got something for you." She reached inside her jacket at the same moment Sam raised his hands and reached for her ruined core. His fingers curled around it and he squeezed harder than he ever had. She screamed, but it quickly became a laugh as Sam's grip faltered and he swayed. The blood loss had weakened him.

"Hurt me all you like, Sam," she said, still slightly breathless. "It's only going to speed your death. That's quite the nick you've got there."

Sam knew she was right. He could feel the blood running from the wound, soaking through his shirt. He didn't care though. He needed to kill her. This was the monster that had cut his throat, leading to John's death. She had possessed Dean, tried to kill him in the hospital. She'd tortured him for Lucifer; she'd blown the lab, making them lose their father again. She deserved death more than almost any demon he'd known.

He raised his fist again, but before he could get a good grip, she pulled something from her jacket and raised it to aim at Dean: the colt.

"Found this in your rolling phallus," she said conversationally. "Thought it was kind of perfect really. I mean, you used this to kill my dad. You were going to use it on Lucifer. Now I'll kill you with it. Fair's fair, right? Well, Dean anyway. He gets to go first. You, Sam, are going last. You get to see Ellen and Jo and all the other people you love die first."

Sam stepped automatically in front of Dean and raised his hand again. He knew there was no time to hurt, and he wasn't able to kill, so he would have to exorcise. He gripped her core and raised it, but just like the elite, there was no way to draw her out. It stopped at her mouth.

She laughed again and pulled her collar away from her throat, revealing the binding mark.

"No exorcising this time, Sam. And if you don't move, I'll make Dean the last."

"Castiel!" he shouted desperately, as blinding anger rolled through him. It surged in his head, making his blood pulse in his ears and his eyes blur. He acted automatically, bringing his hand up he grabbed at her and squeezed, desperate to kill. It was no good though. She was too damn strong. He was furious. He had beaten Azazel and Lucifer. He had cast Uriel out. He would not be beaten by this creature. He would destroy her.

Then he heard the most welcome sound possible—the flutter of an angel's arrival—and felt a hand fall on his shoulder. He felt a rush of warmth filling him and the pain of the wound on his neck knitting together.

"Do what you need to do," Castiel said beside him, and Sam knew in that moment that he could. If Castiel healed, he could free himself to do what needed to be done.

* * *

What he needed to do? What did he need to do that wasn't going to kill him?

Dean's words of caution and pleading fell on deaf ears as Sam fixed his glare on Meg and said in a measured voice, "Turn the gun around."

Meg's eyes widened as her wrist curved and the gun slowly turned to face her.

"Right here," Sam said, patting a point over his heart. "Just like I did to Daddy."

She whimpered and Dean could see her hand shaking as she slowly pressed the muzzle against her chest. He was torn between sickness at the scene and relief that it was working—that the monster that had tormented them for years was going to meet her end. It was a macabre sight, her wide fear-filled eyes and the gun pressed into her flesh, but at the same time it felt right. What did that make Dean?

"Please don't," she begged.

Sam narrowed his eyes at her. "Would you have had mercy on us?" he asked. "Tell me the truth!" His voice carried the command so strongly it reached Dean, too, and he shuddered.

"No," she said miserably.

"You would have killed us?" Sam asked.

"I would have smiled doing it," she moaned.

Sam's expression darkened. "Pull the trigger," he ordered.

Meg's face crumpled as her finger slowly squeezed the trigger. There was an echoing bang and she fell back to the floor with an anticlimactic thud.

Dean just stared at her for a moment, but then his attention snapped back to his brother as he stumbled backward a few steps. Dean reached to steady him, but Castiel was already there with his hand on Sam's back and his expression concerned. "Are you okay?" he asked.

Sam nodded and wiped a hand over his face tiredly. "I'm alright." He walked forward, up to the body on the floor, and looked down at it sadly. "Wish I could have saved the girl," he said.

Castiel shook his head. "Meg never did leave her meat-suits well. Dean was the luckiest."

And she'd left Dean with a broken bottle imbedded in his wrist. Not all that lucky.

Sam turned away and sighed. "Shall we get out of here?"

"Please," Dean said fervently. He looked to Castiel but the angel was frowning.

"I can't do it," he said. "Something is holding me here."

"That'd be me," a drawling voice said.

Dean spun on his heel and saw Crowley, Death's black-stoned ring on his finger. His true face, that of the demon rather than the meat suit, was shocking. It was as old and rotten as any other demon's he'd seen before, but the smoke that surrounded it—the demon itself—was vast and deep red, like blood.

"Hello, boys. Pigeon. Good to see you out and about again, Sam."

Sam glowered at him. "Why have you trapped us here?"

Dean thought their minds were on the same track. Why would he keep them if not to kill them? They had nothing he wanted, nothing to offer him but their deaths.

"Because I wanted to talk, and you flapping away would have been rude," Crowley said. He walked toward them and Dean's heart contracted painfully, but he didn't attack. He walked up to the body on the floor that had been Meg and toed it with the tip of his shoe. "I owe you my thanks. She has been a pain in my ass for a long time, but the sneaky bitch was good at hiding. You see, most of the Lucifer loyalists came over to my side and pledged allegiance. The ones that didn't were massacred." He shrugged. "I never caught up to her though. So, thanks, Winchester."

"Happy to help," Sam said sardonically.

Crowley looked up at him. "I'm sure you are."

"Will you release us now?" Castiel asked stiffly.

"Now that hurts me," Crowley said. "We shared a foxhole against the devil, and now you're dismissing me like it was nothing. I am a big part of why we won. Sure, Sam did his part, but without me…"

"You're a monster," Sam said angrily. "You're taking souls that belong in Heaven to power yourself."

Crowley nodded happily. "Don't forget the rings and grace. But, Sam, can you really say you'd be upset to see the end of the archangels? After what they did to you and your father, don't you want revenge?"

"I do," Sam said simply. "On you for all the souls you have taken. Castiel!"

"Sam, no," Castiel said nervously.

Sam was going to do it with or without him, apparently. He raised a fist and clenched. Crowley stiffened for a moment, and then laughed as Sam stumbled back from him and brought a hand to his bloody upper lip.

"You've not got the _juice,_ " Crowley said, satisfied.

"No," Castiel said. "But he's got me." He put his hand on Sam's shoulder, and Dean saw his brother's skin flush with color and his face twist with satisfaction.

Crowley stiffened and Sam's brow furrowed as he exerted more of his will over the demon. Crowley coughed and Dean saw the smoke that made up his demonic side forming a column and raising to his mouth. He felt a rush of jubilation, Sam was going to do it, but then Crowley raised an arm in return and Sam cried out in pain.

"I don't think so," Crowley said, though his voice was slightly strained. "I'll be seeing you."

Sam's hand came up again, but it was too late. Crowley was gone without a sound. Defeated and obviously exhausted, Sam sagged back and Castiel and Dean supported him with their arms around his back.

"Are you okay, Sam?" Dean asked urgently.

He nodded. "I'm fine."

"He is," Castiel said, soothing Dean's worry a little more, "He's just exhausted. You did too much, Sam," he scolded.

"Maybe," Sam said tiredly. "It wasn't for nothing though."

"No," Dean admitted. "Meg's dead at least."

"Yeah," Sam said smugly. "That's a heck of a tick in the to-do column."

Dean looked down at the former meat suit of the demon that had put them through so much, and he felt a wave of sadness for the girl it had been before Meg took over. It was tempered by his relief that Meg was gone, though. That one constant threat to them was over.

* * *

 **So… Ding dong, Meg is dead. I love late season canon Meg, but the character I created in this story was vile. I was thrilled to kill her at last.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	20. Chapter 20

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for working your beta magic on this. Thank you also Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for all your help outlining.**

 **Thank you all for supporting the story so far.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Twenty**_

Dean wanted Castiel to take Sam straight to The Roadhouse so he could sleep while he drove the Impala back, but Sam refused to be parted. He also refused to go straight to Bobby's so he could have a proper bed, saying Ellen needed them. Dean ceded the point, and he got Sam settled in the front seat of the Impala with a folded blanket for a pillow before setting off for Nebraska. Castiel went ahead to tell the others that Sam and Dean were okay.

He kept the music to a low hum, just as their father had done when they were kids sleeping on the back seat. The soft sound and engine were like a lullaby to them both, though Dean thought Sam would have slept through any volume music because of his exhaustion.

He was pleased Meg was gone, almost euphorically relieved, but at the same time, he was even more worried about Crowley now. He'd always thought, in his most secret heart, that Sam was a match for him—their emergency pull cord. If things got that bad, Sam could take care of him. Though he'd been able to hurt him somewhat, and he perhaps could have exorcised him if Crowley had been trapped, that wasn't the answer. The demon was King of Hell now. Sending him back to the pit was nothing more than a vacation. They needed something bigger and stronger than Sam's powers. Death was deadlocked against him, and Michael didn't seem capable, therefore Gabriel and Raphael were out, too. Death said they were a powerful weapon combined, but where did they start, and what did he even have to offer apart from grounding? Sam wasn't the same man he'd been even two years ago. He didn't need to be grounded.

He glanced to the side at his brother, seeing the shadowed eyes and pallor, and he worried. Sam just needed sleep to get over this bout of using his powers; Castiel had healed any damage that might have been wrought by what he'd done. But what worried him was how quickly Sam had moved to his powers and how he would feel about it when he was back to himself properly. He'd said he'd not wanted to flip the switch and he had. Dean was sure it wouldn't change him as a man, but it might change the way he thought about himself. If he started talking about Dean putting him down again, Dean would lose his mind.

Sam didn't stir until they reached The Roadhouse and Dean touched his arm. He raised his head and blinked blearily.

"We're home," Dean said.

Sam stretched his arms in front of him and said, "Oh crap" as the back door flew open and Ellen rushed out. She obviously knew a little of what had happened, as she looked stressed and worried. Dean had been hoping they'd be able to keep Crowley and what had happened under her radar, and he guessed Sam had felt the same.

Sam opened the door and unfolded himself from the seat, wavering slightly, which made Ellen expression tighten even more. "We're fine," he said.

Ellen scowled at him. "Don't bullshit me, Sam. Cas told me what happened to you."

Sam frowned and Dean thought Castiel was going to get a lecture on the dos and don'ts of sharing hunt stories with Ellen pretty soon. "Okay, but we're fine now," Sam said reasonably.

Ellen looked at Dean who nodded. "We are." They were fine now. They hadn't been, and Sam needed to sleep for a week maybe, but they weren't hurt.

Ellen wrapped an arm around Sam's waist and he allowed her to lead him into the kitchen. When Dean followed them in, he saw Castiel standing by the door and Bobby sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of whiskey in front of him. He sighed with relief as he saw them and nodded to himself.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Fine," Dean replied.

Sam sat heavy in his chair and stifled a yawn behind a hand. Dean wanted to get him to bed so he could sleep, but he accepted Ellen and Bobby needed an explanation and reassurance.

"So, what happened to you two?" Bobby asked.

Sam glanced at Dean and said, "Basically, we were trapped by Meg in an empty hospital with one machete and a bunch of monsters. She was the one sending us the coordinates. We fought our way through, met Meg and killed her."

Ellen sucked in a breath. "She's dead?"

Sam nodded. "Killed by the colt."

Dean noted that he didn't explain the circumstances of that killing. He didn't blame Sam. He didn't want to see Ellen's shock or Bobby's possible disapproval either.

Ellen nodded slowly, seeming appeased, and then her expression hardened. "So, what about Crowley?"

"What about him?"

Ellen narrowed her eyes. "What about him showing up?"

Sam glared at Castiel, but the angel stared back impassively.

"Who are you trying to protect?" Bobby asked quietly. "Us or yourself?"

Dean tensed, expecting Sam's anger to rise. He and Bobby had been doing so well, family again almost, but pushing for more was a surefire way to piss him off, especially with Ellen there. Sam surprised him though. He looked straight into Bobby's eyes and said, "Both."

"What happened, honey?" Ellen asked softly.

Sam drew a deep breath and then spoke in a measured tone. ""Meg. She wasn't just killed by the colt. I made her do it to herself. I controlled her and made her pull the trigger."

"How?" Bobby asked. "I didn't think you had that ability without the blood."

"I didn't drink," Sam said quickly. "I did it dry."

"Do you know how dangerous that could have been?" Ellen said angrily.

"Cas helped," Sam said. "I worked, he healed."

Castiel nodded. "A large cerebral hemorrhage and significant swelling."

Dean felt like he'd been sucker punched in the gut. Sam had a brain bleed! He could have died. He could have been ruined again as he had been after Samhain.

He looked at his brother, needing reassurance, but Sam was glaring at Castiel who now looked a little guilty.

"Sam…" Ellen said sadly.

"I'm fine," he said, laying his hand over hers on the tabletop. "Cas fixed it."

"Yes," Bobby said, "But you did it, you risked it."

"It was Meg," Sam said. "She was going to kill us all. I had no choice."

Dean nodded his agreement.

"Okay," Bobby said. "Tell us about Crowley."

Sam sagged in his chair and gestured to Dean to take up the tale. Now knowing the damage that had been done, Dean wanted Sam to get some sleep more than anything, but he accepted Bobby and Ellen were owed their explanations.

"After Meg died, Crowley came to gloat a bit. He said he was pleased she was dead. He'd been hunting her, too, as a Lucifer loyalist."

"That much makes sense," Bobby said. "But how the hell did you get away?"

"Sam," Dean said. "He started to exorcise him, but Crowley did something, and then…"

"He ran," Castiel finished for him, satisfied.

"Crowley ran from you?" Bobby asked, stunned.

"I wouldn't exactly call it running," Sam said. "But, yeah, when me and Cas started in on him, he didn't hang around."

Bobby sat back in his chair, and a strange expression settled over his features. It was almost triumphant. It was quickly wiped away and replaced with concern as he said, "Maybe you should get some rest, Sam."

Sam didn't reply. He was staring fixedly at him though, his brow furrowed.

"Sam…" Dean started.

Sam addressed Bobby. "What are you thinking?"

"Nothing," Bobby said gruffly.

Sam shook his head slowly. "No, there's something. What is it? Do you know how to deal with Crowley?"

Bobby pointedly avoided Dean's gaze as he said apologetically. "Well, I was just thinking, if you can do that with Cas, what might you be able to do with an archangel's help?"

* * *

Sam saw Dean pale, and he was pretty sure he knew what he was thinking, but he gave him no time to protest before turning to Castiel. "Would that work? Could an archangel help me more that you did?"

Castiel looked uncomfortable under the eyes of them all. "I don't know," he said evasively.

Sam's brow creased. "Cas…"

Castiel looked apologetically at Dean before saying. "I believe the process of healing you also aided you."

Sam nodded. He remembered the feeling of power with the angel's hand on his shoulder. "Yes," he said with dawning realization.

"And I believe an archangel would be further able to assist you."

"How did you help?" Dean demanded. "How could _they_ help?"

"When I heal, I send in a portion of grace," Castiel said. "Just the merest amount. It fades over time to nothing, and there are no ill effects, but it's there. When I healed Sam today, it was from… injuries of a certain level."

"Catastrophic," Ellen said angrily.

"Yes," Castiel agreed. "So the portion of grace was larger. I believe Sam was able to utilize the grace as a power source of sorts, much like Crowley has done with the deceased angels'. Perhaps an archangel's grace—astronomically more powerful than anything I possess—would be able to empower him enough to do, well, anything."

"Right," Sam said quickly. "We need to know." He raised his voice. "Gabriel! We're at The Roadhouse and we need to talk."

There was silence for a moment and then Gabriel appeared leaning against the wall. "You rang," he said sardonically.

He was obviously unimpressed by their summons, but Sam didn't care. They were finally getting close to a workable plan for Crowley.

"Bobby had an idea," Sam said.

"Was bound to happen sooner or later," Gabriel said. "What's the idea? Going to set up a still in the panic room, Bobby? Save yourself those pesky trips to the liquor store?"

"Stow it, Gabriel," Sam said quickly, seeing Bobby's rising color. "He had an idea of how to deal with Crowley."

Gabriel straightened, suddenly looking more interested. "Yes?"

"Yes," Sam said. He gave an abridged account of what Meg had done to him and Dean—ignoring the way Gabriel's hand whirled through the air, drawing him to the good part. When they came to Crowley, he stopped and listened.

"He ran from you?" he asked as Sam finished.

Sam shrugged. "He'd say it was more like made a swift exit, I guess, but, yeah, he ran.

"You siphoned into him, Castiel," Gabriel said. "You clever little seraph."

Castiel looked back at him impassively.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Don't bask in the praise or anything."

"I won't," Castiel said solemnly and Sam smiled.

"Okay then," Gabriel said. "We can do this. I can give Sammy an angelic power-up. Absolutely. But there's still a problem. Sam isn't strong enough to kill. Even with me helping."

"What about the ring?" Bobby asked. "The boys got Pestilence's ring back from that elite."

Gabriel nodded. "That could help. Yeah. It's not as powerful as Death's, but it's a boost."

A throat was cleared behind Sam and he spun to see Death standing there.

"I hate to interrupt," Death said. "Especially when you all seem to be enjoying yourselves so much, but there is a flaw in your grand plan."

Gabriel crossed his arms over his chest. "Yeah?"

"Yes. You're forgetting whose ring Crowley possesses."

"Yours," Sam said.

"Yes, and the problem is all in the name—Death. You cannot kill Death, children. You cannot kill Crowley while he possesses my ring."

Sam slumped in his chair. "Then what do we do?"

"Don't give up hope yet; there is still something you can do. You can cure him."

Gabriel snorted. "Yeah. That's possible."

Death cast him a withering look. "While you were running around playing at being a demi-god, a man much smarter than any archangel unlocked the secret of how to do it. There is a way and it can be performed by a human—no one else."

"You expect me to believe that a human can do something an archangel can't?" Gabriel asked incredulously.

"Yes," Death said simply. "I do."

"Cure him of what?" Dean asked.

"His demonic nature," Death said. "There is a ritual which will cure Crowley of demonic taint and make him human again. A priest called Father Thompson managed it in the fifties."

"We can make demons human again?" Sam asked.

Death nodded. "It's not a fast process, and it dooms the meat suit to being taken over by the former demon, but yes, it's possible."

Sam breathed out a noisy breath. This was incredible. And promising. They could do it to Crowley and he would no longer be a threat. Moreover, when he was human, they could kill him without a problem. He looked at Dean and saw the same expression of shock on his face. But there was more. He looked almost haunted, too. He was scared.

Suddenly, the reality of what they were talking about sank in and Sam understood how it would sound to Dean, and Ellen, too. He was plotting with an archangel and horseman to use his powers to trap and cure a demon. Of course Dean was scared. Dealing with Meg and just scaring Crowley off had done catastrophic damage to him. Castiel had healed him, it was true, but it still had to be frightening them. It was worrying Sam even, and he felt fine.

"If it can only be done by a human, why do you need Sam's powers?" Ellen asked.

"We need to trap him first," Death said. "If you can hold him, I can provide the spelled shackles that will make his demonic powers inert."

"Uh, Lucifer and Meg used them on me," Sam said, "and I could beat them. Doesn't that mean Crowley could without breaking a sweat?"

Death smiled kindly. "These are mine, Sam. I assure you Crowley will not break through them. We need Crowley bound and trapped and then you can proceed with the curing."

"Assuming he'll be alive and active still," Ellen said angrily. "You seemed to be forgetting that Sam's human. This could destroy him."

"I'll heal him," Gabriel said simply. "With me hitching a ride, I'll be able to keep him going just fine."

"Hitching a ride?" Dean asked suspiciously. "What exactly does that mean? I thought you'd just be helping out the way Cas did."

Gabriel shook his head. "For me to be able to best help Sam, to tether him and empower him, I'm going to need to literally be one with him."

"You want to possess me?" Sam asked quietly.

Gabriel nodded. "Budge over, roomie, we're going for a ride."

* * *

Dean saw Sam's color fade and he sagged in his seat.

"Sam," he said tentatively.

Sam shook his head. "It's fine. I can do it."

Death nodded. "Good. In that case we need to plan. We need to lure Crowley back to earth again, and we need consecrated ground, and…"

"Stop!" Dean said, holding up a hand. "We need to talk." He got to his feet and tugged Sam's arm so he stood too. He led Sam through to the bar, calling Ellen's name over his shoulder.

When they got into the bar, Sam took a seat at their usual table and Dean fetched a large measure of whiskey. When he got back to the table, Ellen was sitting beside him with her hand on his arm, speaking quietly but urgently, "Don't do this, Sam. I know you don't want to."

Dean handed him the glass and Sam took it gratefully. He sipped at it then set it down on the table.

"I can do this," he said.

"Yeah, I'm sure you can," Dean agreed. "But that doesn't mean you should. Sam, you're scared. We can all see it."

"I'm not scared of Crowley," Sam said defiantly. "I'm… I just don't want to give up my will again. Yellow-Eyes took that choice from me, and I did it with Lucifer because there was no choice. The thought of giving it up again feels like too much."

"Too much to save the world?" Gabriel asked from the doorway.

Dean glared at him. "A little privacy, Gabriel!"

"No such thing with angels and horsemen," he said simply. "They're just too polite to bust in."

Sam sighed and raked a hand over his face. "I'm not saying I'm not going to do it…"

"Oh, I know," Gabriel said. "You're a Winchester; self-sacrifice is a part of the package. I can make this one a little easier though. You're worried about giving up your will, right? I can take a backseat. It won't be like Luci or Azazel. I'll be passenger. You do what you do with Crowley, and I'll stick to healing and grace boosting."

"That's possible?" Sam asked.

"Duh. Didn't you do the same thing with Uriel?"

Sam nodded thoughtfully. Dean could tell he still wasn't comfortable with the idea, but he was willing now. He would give his consent to Gabriel because—just like with Lucifer—there was no choice. It wouldn't be such a raw deal though; if Gabriel kept his word and stayed in the background Sam would be able to handle it.

"So you'll do it?" Gabriel asked.

"I will, but there's something we need to do first."

"Well, yeah, bunch of prep work to be done. Death says we need consecrated ground, you've got to make with the confession, and Death's got to retrieve the bonds."

"Yeah, that," Sam said. "But we need to talk to Michael, too. We're doing him a solid with this, and I want to get a couple things out of it for us before we start."

Gabriel's face fell. "Things like what?"

Sam glanced at Dean for a moment, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "Things like our father's freedom."

Dean slumped back in his seat. He hadn't even thought about it, but this was perfect. They could get their father back.

Gabriel nodded slowly. "Might work. He won't be happy about it though."

"I truly do not give a shit," Sam said. "If he wants to live, Crowley has to be taken out, and apparently that's on me."

"Okay," Gabriel said, shrugging. "I suggest that you make with the praying. Get your deal done and I'll set up what we need."

"You're not staying," Dean said slyly.

Gabriel shook his head. "Not even a little chance. I'll be seeing you boys." He disappeared.

Sam drew a breath. "We ready then?"

Ellen looked uncomfortable but she nodded. Dean wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. "I am."

Sam stood and raised his voice, the distaste clear to hear. "Michael. We need you to come to The Roadhouse. We think we have a plan for Crowley."

There was a sound like sails whipping in the wind and then Dean heard his father's voice, slightly modified by the angel, saying, "What is your plan?"

Dean stiffened at the sight of him. He hated the angel that had stolen his father from them with all his being. They needed him, though, to broker this deal, so they had to deal with him just a little longer.

"We're going to trap and cure Crowley," Sam said.

"Not possible," Michael said. "He's too powerful to be trapped, and as for curing him, it's a myth."

"I know someone that disagrees," Sam said.

"And who might that be?"

"Me," Death said.

Dean was satisfied to see a flicker of fear on Michael's face, even though it was quickly quashed and replaced by neutrality. "Death," he acknowledged. "You believe a demon can be cured?"

"I know it can," Death said. "It's a soul after all, and souls are my business.

"And how do you intend to trap him?" Michael asked.

"By using my powers and the grace of an archangel," Sam said.

"Which archangel?" Michael asked.

"Not you," Ellen said quickly.

"Gabriel," Michael said. "You have seen him?"

"Sure we have," Dean said. "He's been hanging around for years. Didn't you know?"

Michael's lip curled back. "Listen to me, ant—"

"That will do," Death said mildly. "We have more important things to discuss. Sam Winchester and Gabriel have brokered a deal, but they want something from you, too, before we proceed."

"What do you want?" Michael asked.

"Our father," Sam said. "We do this, cure Crowley, you give him back. Understood?"

Michael hesitated. "That would leave me without a vessel."

"Don't give a crap," Sam said.

The archangel stared at the brothers for a long moment before shaking his head in disgust. "Very well, we have a deal."

"Not yet we don't," Dean interjected, and Sam looked at him in surprise. "There's more. We want Anna free, too."

"She isn't trapped," Michael argued.

"No, but you're hunting her," Dean said. "You'll stop that. Anna will be free to live her life how and where she wants without your interference."

Michael's expression darkened. "Fine. Anything else?"

"Yes," Ellen said. "You leave them alone. When this is over, you don't come to my boys looking for anything. You let them live their lives in peace, without angelic interference."

"And Castiel?" Michael asked. "Am I to keep him away too?"

Ellen turned to Castiel who was lurking in the doorway looking uncertain. "No," she said. "Castiel isn't just an angel. He's family, too."

Castiel smiled and Michael nodded. "Believe me, I want nothing to do with any of you, ever again. I will happily give back this carcass and take my leave for the last time."

"Good," Sam said and then turned to Castiel. "Anything you want Cas?" he asked.

Castiel shook his head. "No. I am happy with what you have arranged, thank you."

"In that case we have a deal," Sam said.

"This only works as long as you can take care of Crowley, you know," Michael said.

"I know," Sam said. "Okay, Gabriel, whenever you're ready."

The door flew open then and a cloud of blue-white light swept into the room, ebbing and flowing on the air. It came to Sam and Dean saw Sam's tension.

"Close your eyes," Castiel commanded.

Dean obeyed and held his arm over them for good measure. He could hear though, the high-pitched whine on the air, and then Sam's voice ringing out clearly.

"Yes."

* * *

 **So… They have a plan. About time, right? We're nearly at the end now. Two more chapters and an epilogue to go. Buckle in and brace yourselves.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	21. Chapter 21

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for working your beta magic on this for me. Thank you SandraEngstrom2 and Gredelina1 for all your help. Thank you all for reading and supporting the story.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Twenty-One**_

Being possessed by Gabriel was the polar opposite to being possessed by Lucifer. Whereas Lucifer had been cold, an icy presence through his body that had made him sick, Gabriel was warmth, comfort, and strength. The exhaustion he had felt before was gone.

" _Awww, Sammy, you say the sweetest things,"_ Gabriel whispered to him.

For a moment, Sam froze, remembering Lucifer whispering to him, but he quickly mastered himself and straightened his shoulders.

" _So, this is what it feels like to be a giant. I always wondered."_

"Are you going to do this the whole time?" Sam asked within his mind.

" _Maybe. Probably. Almost definitely. But you might want to pay attention to something other than the voices in your head now. Our big brothers are getting antsy."_

Sam's attention snapped back to the room and he heard Dean's frantic voice, "Sam? Sammy? Say something already!"

"Gabriel," Michael was saying. "I am talking to you."

Sam shook his head slowly and addressed Michael, seeing the hated presence behind the loved face. "Gabriel isn't free to talk right now."

"You're overpowering him!" Michael snarled. "Release him!"

Sam rolled his eyes as Gabriel laughed in his mind.

"Of course I'm not overpowering him. He's letting me do this. How else would it work? Gabriel doesn't have a clue of how to manage my powers. He's taking a backseat for a while."

"I don't believe you."

" _Idiot,"_ Gabriel said scathingly. " _Repeat after me, Sam."_ He spoke the words in Sam's mind and Sam repeated them aloud. "Oiad niiso om."

Castiel cleared his throat, looking amused.

"What did we just say?" Sam asked Gabriel.

" _We basically told him to fuck off."_

Sam laughed loudly, drawing the eyes of the room from Michael's thunderstruck face to Sam.

"Incidentally, it might be a good idea to keep him around a little longer," Death said. "We need to draw Crowley out. We can't summon him, as a demon of his caliber can refuse the summons. We need to tempt him out somehow. Michael would be a good worm."

"Worm!" Michael said, affronted.

Death stared impassively at him. "Yes."

"What do we need to do?" Sam asked.

"Find a demon. Make sure it sees Michael and then exorcise it so it can go running to Crowley with the news he's earthbound again."

" _Okay,"_ Gabriel said cheerfully. _"Let's go hunting."_

"We need it to look convincing," Dean said. "As if Michael is on the run."

Castiel raised a hand. "I have an idea."

* * *

Once again, Dean was at a crossroads preparing the area for a demon to answer the summons.

He finished painting the vast devil's trap on the ground and stepped back.

"Nice work," Gabriel said in Sam's voice. "Very neat."

Dean glowered at him. "Can I have my brother back yet?"

"Nope. I need to be the one in control to snatch and grab the demon. Besides, Sam's not feeling so well right now."

"What's wrong with him?" Dean asked concernedly.

Gabriel grinned. "Flying under our influence and flying when you can see it all happening are totally different. When you can see, it's like a rollercoaster moving at sonic speed for a human. Sam didn't enjoy the experience."

Dean thought Gabriel was enjoying all this a little too much. He wished he could have brought Castiel with them, but he was keeping watch over Ellen while they were gone. Sam and Dean had both refused outright to leave her alone with Michael in the area.

"Get to it then," Gabriel said, waving an impatient hand. "Make with the summoning."

Dean took his fed badge from his pocket and tucked it in the tin. He snapped it closed and buried it under a loose cover of gravel. It would be enough, he was sure. He stepped back out of the trap and stood beside Gabriel, wishing it was really his brother there.

The demon arrived after only a matter of seconds. Dean's first thought was that the meat suit had to have been a serious bodybuilder or perhaps a wrestler before his possession. He was huge. Muscle thickened his whole body, and his neck was almost non-existent. He was dark skinned and bald, and the sneer he wore as he looked at Dean would have been intimidating as hell had he not been trapped.

"Winchesters," he growled. "And an angel stuffed inside one of them." He smirked at Dean. "I thought your brother would have learned his lesson after Lucifer."

"Archangel, actually," Gabriel said with satisfaction.

"What do you want?" the demon asked.

"Information," Dean lied.

Gabriel stepped confidently over the border of the trap and walked toward the demon who pulled back a fist and prepared to land a punch on Gabriel's jaw. Gabriel caught his wrist, though, and dragged it behind his back. The demon tried to struggle, but it was futile. Holding him fast, Gabriel looked at Dean and then they were in motion.

They came to a stop in an old chapel. The stone walls were dirty and the plaster crumbled. Birds were roosting in the eaves. The roof looked good though, and Dean thought the walls would hold at least long enough for them to complete the ritual.

Death had prepared in their absence. There was an intricate devil's trap painted onto the floor—the kind Alastair had been trapped in. Dean hoped this one lasted out better than that one had.

Gabriel dumped the demon into the trap and stepped back.

"Now can I have my brother back?" Dean asked.

Gabriel nodded and closed his eyes for a moment. When they opened, Dean saw his brother's awareness again. He smiled. "Flying, huh?"

Sam grimaced and Dean chuckled.

"When you're finished," Michael said grimly. "I have some questions to ask."

"Go for it," Sam said.

They had discussed what Michael was going to say to the demon, but it was still strange to hear Michael playing the part of being worried. It was all the more strange as it was John Winchester's voice speaking. "What is Crowley planning for me?"

"Other than to exterminate you and your kind?" the demon asked. "I'm guessing world domination."

"When will he strike?"

"I don't know, maybe Tuesday." The demon laughed. "What makes you think I know? I'm a grunt. He's the King. He doesn't share master plans with demons like me."

"Sam," Michael said pointedly.

Sam nodded and fixed his attention on the demon. He raised his hand and clenched his fingers. The demon cried out in pain.

"You're scared," the demon said when Sam released his hold on it. "You know he's going to win."

Michael glowered it him. "I know no such thing."

"Yeah, you do. Crowley's going to squash you like a bug."

"Sam!" Michael commanded. "Get rid of this filth. He knows nothing."

Sam nodded slowly, and Dean watched the smoke funnel into a column behind the demon's true face and lift to its mouth. It poured out and sank slowly down to the floor, sparking and glowing, and then disappeared.

Sam lowered his arm and took a deep breath. "Think it will work?" he asked.

Michael nodded. "I believe Crowley will be listening to his tale within the hour."

* * *

Dean was leaning against the wall, his tired eyes fixed on the devil's trap. Sam was standing straight and strong beside him. They'd been waiting past the expected hour, and Sam was starting to doubt it was going to work after all. The only other plan they had was to stake out Crowley's court and wait for him to surface.

" _Patience, grasshopper,"_ Gabriel said. _"He will come. Mickey is too juicy a steak to deny."_ Sam rolled his eyes then stiffened as he felt Gabriel come to life inside him. _"He's coming."_

Sam stepped away from the wall and went to stand beside Michael just as Crowley appeared.

"Michael," Crowley said happily. "Feels like a lifetime. And Sam. Got to say I didn't expect to see you in this company. What…" He trailed off as he turned to look at Sam properly, looking through Sam's face to the archangel beneath.

Sam didn't give him a moment to even think about leaving. He raised his arm and gripped Crowley's deep red core. He felt the strain on his mind at once, and pain, and then a wonderful warmth and surge of strength. Gabriel was doing his part.

"What do you think you're doing?" Crowley asked.

Sam didn't speak, but he smiled as he squeezed his fingers tight together. He expected Crowley to cry out, but he merely grunted and then laughed harshly. "Really, Winchester, you think you can torture me? I've felt worse on a spa break."

Sam felt a moment's despair, but Gabriel quickly spoke up in his mind. " _Quit with the hand wringing. So we can't torture him. Let's focus on getting him in the trap."_

Crowley was standing in front of the trap, a few feet from the edge. Sam thought if he could just have enough of a push…

Gabriel forced himself forward then and took over Sam's mouth for a moment "Michael, a little help"

Sam felt a hand fall on his shoulder, and he had a moment to flinch that it was _that_ angel touching him, but then the strength surged through him and he concentrated his will. He gripped Crowley's core tighter and began to walk forward, Michael keeping step beside him. As he walked forward, Crowley stepped back—right into the trap. Sam released him and staggered back a step. Dean laid a hand on his back.

" _Nice work,"_ Gabriel said.

Crowley's expression was thunderous but when he spoke his tone was measured. "So you've trapped me. What do you think's going to happen now? You exorcise me, I'll come right back. You can't kill me."

Dean spoke up, his very voice a threat. "We're going to cure you."

Crowley barked out a laugh. "Can't be done. It's a myth."

"Let's find out shall we?" Death said, appearing behind Crowley and snapping an iron collar around his neck.

* * *

Michael was gone, back to heaven where he swore to stay until they called him again—sworn to stay far away from Ellen. Crowley was chained to the chair in the middle of the trap with spelled bonds. His hands and chest were bound with thick chains. Dean relished the sight of the hated demon defeated, though he knew it wasn't over yet.

"This will never work," Crowley said. "You can do your hocus pocus, and try to make me human again, but when you fail, and my demons storm the place, I'll be freed and I'll make sure your deaths are slow."

"Sure you will," Sam said idly. "Okay, what's next?"

"The cure," Death said. He turned to Dean. "You will need to purify yourself with confession and then you will need to be prepared to lose a little blood."

"Hold on!" Sam said, raising a hand. "What do you mean blood, and who says it's going to be Dean?"

"Me," Dean said firmly.

Sam glared at him. "Dean, this could be—"

"Dangerous?" Dean asked. "I doubt it's any more dangerous than letting an archangel in so you can use psychic powers—which have floored you before—to deal with the King of Hell."

Sam drew a deep breath and then his expression became blank. For a moment, Dean thought he was retreating behind the mask to deal, but then he scowled and Dean realized he was listening to Gabriel—possibly arguing with him. When Dean saw him come back to himself, he said, "I have to do this, Sam. I need to play my part. I can't leave it all to you again. Not after last time."

Sam's lips pressed into a thin line and he scowled. "Okay. Okay. I hate it, but yeah, you do it."

Dean smiled. "Thank you, Sam." He turned to Death. "Confession? Is there a priest nearby?"

"There will be no need for that," Death said. "The process of confession is a conversation with God and a desire to make things right. The priest is merely a conduit for that." He pointed back at the far corner at a decrepit looking confessional booth.

Dean felt uncomfortable. He didn't want his confession to be overheard by Crowley and Gabriel.

"I can ensure privacy," Death said.

Dean nodded slowly. "Okay." He made his way over to the confessional booth and opened the creaking wooden door. He sat down and closed his eyes, and willing Death to keep his promise, he started to speak.

* * *

The door creaked closed behind Dean and then Sam felt silence descend over them as Death blocked out the sound of Dean's words.

"Now that he's occupied, there are things for us to discuss," Death said.

" _Oh, here we go…"_ Gabriel sighed.

"There are souls in the pit that don't belong there," he went on. "Souls that my Reapers should have taken to Heaven."

Sam nodded. "We know. What can we do about it though?"

"Not a thing," Crowley said, satisfied.

"You can free them," Death said.

Sam's eyes widened. Could he really be suggesting what Sam thought he was?

" _Hell yeah he is,"_ Gabriel said.

"You think he'll last five minutes in the Pit?" Crowley asked.

"I think he lasted over a century in the Cage," Death said, casting Crowley a scathing look. "I think he can handle your measly Hell without a problem."

"Can it wait until Dean's finished?" Sam asked hopefully. "I don't want to leave him alone."

Death shook his head. "With Crowley missing from Hell, the demons will be in a state of chaos. This is our best chance of making it work."

"You pulled me from the Empty though," Sam said. "Can't you just make a stop by the Pit and, I don't know, scoop them all up?"

Death looked apologetic. "I could, but which of us do you think can protect Dean better should the horde of demons find this place?"

Sam closed his eyes. He was powerful with Gabriel, no question, but he was nothing compared to Death. He could probably take out the demons as easy as blinking.

" _And you could get your mind smashed to pieces if you go back into the pit!"_ Gabriel said angrily. _"I have blocked the experience of your hell. Don't you think the sights and smells of that place are going to be a memory jog maybe?"_

Sam winced at the thought but he knew the decision was already made in his heart. He had to do it. All the people in the pit who didn't deserve to be there—like Dean hadn't—needed to be freed.

" _You stubborn, martyred ass,"_ Gabriel snapped.

Sam retreated into himself to speak. "I'm doing it Gabriel. Those people, those _souls_ , need help, and that's what we do. You can stay here and take care of Dean. I'll go alone."

" _Are you kidding me? Let you go alone?"_

"Dean needs to be safe."

" _And he will be with Death watching over him. I'm coming with."_ He must have felt Sam's remaining hesitance, as he said, _"If you don't take me, I will tell Dean where you are and what you're doing."_

"How do you know I won't tell him myself?"

" _Because I know you."_

Sam pulled out of his mind and looked to Death who was watching him. "Your decision is made?" he asked.

"I'm going," Sam said, then added reluctantly, "Gabriel is coming with me."

Death nodded. "Good. He will know where you need to go and what you need to do."

"One thing though," Sam said. "Don't tell Dean."

Death looked amused. "Of course not. Here he comes. You might want to come up with a good excuse for your absence."

"Already have one," Sam said.

The door creaked open and Dean stepped out of the confessional, his eyes red and wet. Sam crossed the space toward him and dragged him into a hug. Dean seemed surprised at first and then he returned it forcefully. When he pulled back he looked Sam in the eye and said, "I'll be fine. It'll be all over soon."

"I know," Sam said. "I've got to go check on Ellen. Will you be okay? Death's going to stay here."

Dean looked surprised but he nodded. "Of course."

"I won't be gone long," Sam said.

" _Yeah, sure you won't,"_ Gabriel snapped.

"No rush," Dean said. "Tell the others I'll see them soon."

"I will," Sam glanced at Death and received a subtle nod in response as he handed Dean a syringe and said, "When you're ready, Dean."

" _Are we ready?"_ Gabriel asked.

Sam pulled back and let him take control as he swept them away from the chapel and Sam's brother.

* * *

"Here?" Sam asked. "This is how we get into Hell?"

" _Where were you thinking?"_

"I don't know. Stull maybe."

" _There is a reason Crowley chose this place for his court. It has access to the pit."_

Sam looked at the facade of the asylum and nodded. It did make sense, he realized, and it was easier that way, to have an actual physical point of entry rather than having to create a portal. That could have been too like the Cage for him to handle.

" _Shall we?"_

Sam nodded and made his way to the doors. He flung them open and grinned as he saw the demons rushing out into the hall. Their faces went from amused to stunned as they recognized Gabriel's presence.

Sam's instinct was to kill, to end the lives of the creatures he detested, but he knew that would end the lives of the meat suits, too, people who had done no wrong. He reached for the closest demon and yanked it from the meat suit. It was easy as breathing compared to Crowley. He felt no strain against his mind as Gabriel's presence empowered him. He reached for the next and the next and ripped them free. The bodies dropped one by one, some stirring but others lying perfectly still. He could hear Gabriel chattering in his mind, but he paid him little attention until the last demon he could see had been exorcised.

" _You just made our trip through the pit a whole lot more complicated, you know."_

Sam realized his mistake at the same moment. There would be a dozen more demons to face now.

"Oh, well," he said. "Dean would have wanted it this way."

" _He's not dead you know, nor dying. He's curing a demon. Death is there to protect him."_

Sam ignored him. He knew Dean wasn't dying, but it still seemed important to do things the right way, the way Dean would want them to, in that moment. Sam knew he could easily get carried away by the power he possessed with Gabriel, become less than he was morally, but if he clung to Dean, he wouldn't, as Dean had always been his steady moral compass.

"Throne room next?" Sam asked.

" _Duh. Of course. Did you think the entrance to hell would be through a broom closet?"_

Sam ignored him and walked on into the throne room. His first thought was panic as he saw the figure lolling in the throne, thinking Crowley was free already, but he quickly mastered himself as he saw that it wasn't Crowley but a female demon in black pants and jacket. On her finger was a white-stone ring—Famine's. She was one of the elite.

"Gabriel," she said smugly as Sam walked deeper into the room. "Tucked inside a Winchester. Nice. Is it the apocalypse again already?"

"Only for your kind," Sam said.

"Oh, I'm so scared," she said, clutching a hand to her chest. "You seem to be forgetting we demons have had something of a power-up recently. We've got a smorgasbord of souls, grace, and rings on our side now, along with our new King. There has never been a more powerful being than him."

"Someone's got a little crush," Sam said scathingly.

"What can I say? Power does it for me."

" _Kill it already, Sam. Deal with it. But don't send it back to the Pit. We can't add more things to fight on the way through the pit. It's a big place and you've got to get the souls out again when we find them."_

"Don't you mean we?" Sam asked him.

" _Uh, short answer, no. I'll tell you about it later. Just make with the killing already."_

His stomach twisting with fear, Sam turned his attention back to the demon and fixed his eyes on its swirling core. He knew Gabriel was right; the last thing they needed was to encounter an elite on its home turf, but he still felt a pang of guilt as he clenched his fingers against the pressure, feeling the resistance suddenly disappear as the rotted and ruined soul imploded and faded to nothing. The woman that had been possessed dropped hard to the stone floor.

" _That's better,"_ Gabriel said dispassionately. _"Now, door on the left."_

Sam walked toward the door, feeling a flicker of fear as he opened it. A wave of hot, sulfur scented air hit him and he heard an echoing scream in his mind that sounded like his own.

" _Hold it together, Sam."_

It was a short passage that led to a flight of stone stairs. Sam girded himself and then walked into the hot air and toward the stairs. With a deep breath and a whisper of an apology to his brother who could neither hear nor know, Sam descended into Hell. Again.

* * *

 **So… Sam is heading back into Hell and Dean's curing a demon. There's no way this can go wrong, right?**

 **There's one more full chapter to go now and then the epilogue. Strap yourselves in and prepare for the end.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	22. Chapter 22

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for working your magic on this for me. Thank you also SandraEngstrom2 and Gredelina1 for all your help and support.**

 **Thank you to all of you that have made it this far with me…**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Twenty-Two**_

 _Carry On My Wayward Son…_

 _There'll Be Peace When You Are Done…_

Dean winced as his blood filled the syringe.

"That will do," Death said. "It's not the amount of blood but the power and purity of it that counts."

"My blood doesn't have power," Dean said.

"On the contrary, it is immensely strong because of your nature." He smiled slightly at Dean's look of incomprehension. "I don't know if you're aware of how unique a person you are, Dean. Your life has been much more difficult than most, and yet you chose to transport that difficulty into compassion. You're a gentle man, despite your current vocation of a hunter. You could have become a hardened man, embracing a darker nature, but you didn't."

"Like Sam did you mean," Dean asked a little bitterly.

"I'm not talking about your brother; I am talking about you."

Dean grimaced. "I had choice; Sam didn't. That allowed me to _be_ different."

Death shook his head. "Again, I am not talking about your brother."

Dean raised the syringe. "What do I have to do with this?"

Death rolled his eyes. "Nice redirection. You need to inject him with it somewhere. It doesn't matter where."

Dean hesitated before stepping into the trap with the demon. Though he knew Crowley was bound tightly, he still felt fear being close to him. He pushed it down though, embraced his Winchester nature, and jabbed the needle into the side of Crowley's neck, pushing firmly on the plunger. The demon looked uncomfortable but he didn't make a sound.

Dean stepped back and set the needle down on the table, breathing a sigh of relief. That was the first in what Death said would be an eight-hour cycle of injections. It was incredible to Dean that in eight hours he and Sam could be free. Crowley would be neutered, and they could finally sit down and discuss their futures properly. There might be college, there might be a job, but there would definitely be each other, and that was what really mattered.

* * *

Sam had thought a lot about the nature of Hell when Dean had been gone. He had imagined the horrors and suffering. After Dean had told him the truth about how he'd come off of the rack, Sam had a better insight into it, and he'd been able to imagine it a little easier. Still, his mind hadn't done it justice.

He hadn't known that the screams of pain would rip through your heart, making you desperate to follow the sound to the source to free the poor soul.

When he'd been in the Cage, the only screams he'd heard were his own and the only other voice, Lucifer's. Sam couldn't understand how Dean had come out almost the same man he'd gone in—still gentle and kind.

" _Yeah, Dean's a delight,"_ Gabriel said. _"And your Hell was Graceland."_

"That's not what I'm saying."

" _No, but you're stewing in the whole 'Dean's a better man' soup that you angst over so much."_

"Are you saying he isn't?" Sam bit back.

" _I'm saying you're both okay, for humans. Dean is currently curing a demon to save the world and you've dived back into hell to save souls. I don't see the need to compare, and I don't see why you always find yourself lacking. I know Dean is probably doing the same thing right now, too. You each see the best in each other but not yourselves."_

"What are you, my therapist?"

" _If only you'd go to therapy,"_ Gabriel sighed. _"I've spent months following the Winchester telenovela lately, and you two are infuriating. I'm going to college—no, wait, I'm not. Sam is perfection personified—I wish I was more like Dean."_

"I've never said that," Sam argued.

" _Subtext. And I note you're not denying the college indecision."_

"Can you blame me?" Sam asked.

" _Yes!"_ Gabriel said emphatically. _"I can. You were right at the start. You deserved the peace. Now because you've seen a few people die you think that somehow means it's your fault. You should listen to Ellen—she talks sense."_

"You know, the stalker thing is a little creepy."

" _Thankfully for us both, it won't be for much longer. When this is over, I'm saying goodbye and I'm going to make sure it sticks."_

"What will you do? Go back to Heaven? Michael knows you're back now."

" _No shit, Sherlock. No. I'm not going back. It's not home anymore. I'll have to talk to Michael, or he'll spend the rest of time searching for me. I'll tell him what I'm doing then I'll upgrade the vessel to a new face and get back to my Trickster ways."_

"And yet I'm supposed to stop hunting people like you."

Gabriel snorted. _"Face it, Sam. You're no match for me anyway."_

The heat grew warmer on Sam's face and he took a deep breath of sulfuric air; it made him want to vomit.

" _Are you ready for this?"_ Gabriel asked.

"Do I have a choice?" Sam already knew the answer. He absolutely had a choice. He could leave the souls to their suffering and go topside again now, but he would never forgive himself.

" _Don't ask stupid questions."_

"How do we find them?" Sam asked.

" _I'll see them,"_ Gabriel said. _"An angel is able to recognize a Heaven bound soul the way a demon can recognize a Hell bound. It all about the aura. You should be able to see them too, since your little visual upgrade. First things first, kill that demon."_

"Which demon?" Sam asked, even as it barreled toward them.

" _Kill, Sam!"_ Gabriel ordered _. "There are no meat suits down here."_

Though he saw the meat suit of the demon—the way he'd seen Lucifer's first vessel in Hell—Sam also saw the column of smoke that made it up. It was confusing, but his mind quickly adapted and when he brought up his hand to grip the smoky core, the meat suit faded away. For the first time he was able to see properly the process of killing. The smoke rippled and pulsed under the pressure and the color darkened to pure onyx before dissipating on the air as Sam's fingers curled together.

" _Nice work. Now if could deal with those two, as well, we'll be golden."_

There were two more demons running at them. For the first time, Sam understood the magnitude of what they were undertaking.

He brought both hands up and prepared to work.

* * *

Dean wasn't sure what he was expecting from Crowley as he was made gradually more and more human, but if he'd given it thought, he'd have known there would be mocking and sarcasm. He kept taunting Dean about some fantastic secret he had, and no matter how many times Dean said he didn't care, Crowley's response was always the same, _"Oh, if only you knew."_

Dean suspected it was some new facet in his plan to kill the archangels; perhaps some other way he was screwing the angels and humanity over. Cowardly, he didn't want to know what it was. He was already dealing with enough.

The taunting got to him though, and after the second dose of blood, Dean exited the church and stood outside the door, leaving Death to watch Crowley. He was leaning against the wall, thinking about Sam and wondering what was happening at The Roadhouse to keep him away so long, when there was a flutter on the air and Castiel's dry voice, "Hello, Dean."

Dean felt a little guilty disappointment that it wasn't Sam back, but he quickly quashed it and smiled. "Hey, Cas."

"How is it going?" Castiel asked.

Dean shrugged. "Two doses down. Crowley is being an asshole, hence the fresh air. How are things at home?"

Castiel's mouth pressed into a thin line. "Ellen is very worried for you both."

Dean frowned. "Sam's okay though, right?"

"I came to ask you the same thing. Isn't he inside?"

"No!" Dean's eyes widened. "Tell me he at least came by, Cas, please."

Castiel shook his head. "I haven't seen him since you left to find a demon."

Dean's hands clenched. "Dammit, Gabriel!"

Where had the dick angel flapped him off to and why? They should never have trusted him. He could have taken Sam anywhere to screw with them!

"Gabriel!" he shouted. "Get back here, you dick! Bring my brother back. Now!"

"Dean," Castiel said worriedly.

Dean turned to him and saw that he wasn't looking at him. He was staring out over the horizon where a thick cloud of black smoke was rushing towards them.

"That's not a storm," Dean said.

"Demons," Castiel said, grabbing Dean's arm and yanking him into the church. Dean stumbled and almost fell; Castiel's grip on him was all that held him upright. Castiel shoved him behind Death and slapped something into his hand. Dean's fingers were around the cool metal hilt before he even recognized it for what it was—an angel blade.

"What is happening?" Death asked, his tone mild.

"A horde of demons," Castiel said.

Crowley started to laugh. "Nice seeing you, boys, but I think I'll be on my way. Seems the cavalry has arrived."

The floor started to quake and Dean's heart raced. Castiel was stiff at his side, his stance ready to attack. The only one that seemed indifferent was Death, and Dean guessed he had nothing to worry about.

"I will protect you, Dean," Castiel vowed.

Crowley laughed even harder.

The doors flew open and a mass of black and red-eyed demons spilled inside. Dean raised his blade, unashamed of the fact he was essentially cowering behind an angel and horseman. He had to survive to finish Crowley's cure.

Suddenly, the smoke stopped as if it had hit a glass wall. Death was standing with his hand outstretched, palm facing up. He smiled slightly and slowly raised it, he made a swirling gesture and the smoke became a funnel that swirled through the air, creating a wind that whipped Dean's hair. Then the funnel sank to the floor, gradually getting thinner as the demons were banished.

Dean took a deep breath as the last trace of demon smoke disappeared and then turned to Death, asking, "Where is Sam?"

Crowley was still laughing fit to bust, despite the fact his rescue mission had just been exorcised, and at Dean's question he positively howled.

"Sam is doing something for me," Death said. "With Gabriel."

"What is he doing?"

"He's in Hell!" Crowley said gleefully.

"He's what?" Dean growled.

"Little brother is in the Pit, and the big man there just sent a hundred demons back!" Crowley crowed. "Hope you made that goodbye count, Winchester, as you'll never see him again."

* * *

They had been walking the levels of Hell for so long Sam had lost track of time. It could have been only hours, or it could have been weeks. He didn't physically tire, as he had Gabriel suffusing him, but he did grow mentally weary of it.

"How big is this place?" he asked Gabriel.

" _Endless. We're nearing the cells though. I can sense them. Can't you?"_

Sam concentrated and thought he could feel some warmth separate to what he felt from Gabriel. He was drawn to it, the way you were to a fireplace on a cold day.

" _Yeah, that'd be it."_

Suddenly, the floor beneath him shook and Sam reached for a wall to steady himself. "What was that?"

" _An exorcism. A big one from the sounds of it."_

"Crowley?" Sam asked.

" _I sincerely hope not. That'd mean our plan has gone horribly wrong."_

"Dean!" Sam said desperately.

" _Don't do that!"_ Gabriel scolded. _"Don't lose your head. Dean has Death with him. He is as safe as it is possible to be. We, on the other hand, are in all kinds of trouble. That was a helluva exorcism. Either someone big or a bunch at once."_

"Awesome," Sam said.

" _Precisely. Now hurry your ass up. We need to get these souls and ourselves out of here, fast."_

Sam started jogging. The feeling of warmth drew him on. They passed through an iron gate and into a narrow corridor that was lined with barred doors.

" _Jackpot,"_ Gabriel said with satisfaction.

The air was full of sobbing and moans. Sam swallowed hard and made for the first door. A woman was in there. She looked like she could be a mom. She had the soft look, despite the fact she also looked terrified. Sam could see the blue-white aura surrounding her that he associated with angels. She was marked for Heaven.

She cowered back against the wall of her cell and tears filled her eyes. "Please, no," she said.

"It's okay," Sam said. "I've come to help you."

Her eyes widened. "Can you take me home? Please, please, take me home."

" _Not gonna happen, Sam."_ Gabriel cautioned.

"I can take you somewhere better," Sam said. "Come with me." He pushed open the door of the cell, surprised to find it was unlocked. He supposed Crowley relied on the fact they were trapped and scared of what was waiting for them outside to keep them in.

The woman came out, shaking like a leaf. Sam laid a hand on her shoulder, said, "Stay close to me," and moved to the next door.

This one housed a middle-aged man with the same blue-white aura. Sam reassured him and coaxed him out of his cell to stand with the woman. He immediately took her hand and clung to it.

Sam moved on along the corridor, freeing souls one by one, a feeling of exultation growing with each one. He was actually doing it. These people would be freed.

He had lost count of how many souls were with him when he felt Gabriel recoil in his mind at the same moment he heard an approaching roar.

"Gabriel?" he asked.

" _Sorry, Sam, you're on your own for a minute,"_ Gabriel replied.

Sam's mouth opened as the grace flew from him and into the air.

With the absence of power and peace filling him, he felt vulnerable and scared again. "What the hell?" he shouted. He couldn't believe Gabriel would abandon him like that.

" _Wait_ ," Gabriel said through the high-pitched whine of his true voice. " _There_."

A cloud of black smoke rushed at them, and Sam gasped as he saw each individual demon that made it up. There were more that he could count, and definitely more than he could deal with.

As it flew at them, Gabriel's true self, the blue-white cloud of light, surged forward and met it. There was a high sound that Sam recognized as Gabriel's laughter as the smoke met the cloud and then screams of fear from the souls behind him and the demons in front.

Sam watched, awed, as the demons were annihilated one by one by Gabriel. They twisted and pulled away, but fingers of light caught them and squeezed them to nothing. When the last had disappeared, Sam sighed a breath of relief and said, "Nice work, Gabriel. You coming back in?"

" _I think I'll take the air for a while. Just in case another horde attacks. You will be safe enough. There aren't many more to go now."_

Sam moved on along the corridor, freeing and reassuring, and then suddenly he saw Gabriel's grace surge away from him.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

" _I can feel them!"_

Sam hurried along behind him, past the cells and into a large room with a table in the middle. On it were countless small glass jars, each of them held swirling light—grace.

"Whoa," Sam said.

" _Yes,"_ Gabriel said, and Sam thought there was satisfaction in his voice.

"What do we do with them?" Sam asked.

" _We free them."_

"Duh. I meant how. Do we take them with us?"

" _No. We can free them here. Cover your eyes, Sam. They may not take care the way I do."_

Knowing what was coming, Sam covered his eyes and brought an arm up for good measure. There was a tinkle and then a rattle, and then the sound of jars smashing one by one. The heat against Sam's face increased and he could hear what sounded like a hundred voices crying out with joy and shock. There was one theme to their words. "Peace!"

The warmth slowly dissipated and the voices faded.

" _You can look now,"_ Gabriel said.

Sam lowered his hands and saw a table covered in broken glass. "Nice," he said, then frowned. "But they were all killed. All the angels that were taken. What happens to their grace now?"

" _They go on to the next place."_

"Which is? Do angels have their own heaven?"

" _Even I don't know that,"_ Gabriel said. " _I hope so. We're almost finished."_

Sam turned away and walked back to the corridor to free the last of the souls. As he did though, he wondered, why did he care if those angels had a heaven of just eternity in the ether?

* * *

Sam was in Hell again, and there wasn't a thing Dean could do about it.

He hadn't spoken a word to Death since he'd finished his explanation of what had happened and how he'd essentially forced Sam to go to Hell. Castiel had stopped trying to reassure him after Dean snapped at him that he didn't want to hear it.

It wasn't that Dean didn't want the souls freed; it was that they could have done it together when Crowley was dealt with. They could have protected each other there. There was the horde of demons that Death had sent back, too. He had known Sam was there when he had done it. The only comfort Dean had was that Gabriel was with him. He just hoped the archangel would watch his brother's back.

"It is time for the next dose," Death said, rousing Dean from his thoughts.

Crowley had become quieter as the time had worn on, and Dean wondered how the blood was affecting him—if it worked gradually or if it would surge through him at the end of the ritual. There was no denying, though, that Crowley looked scared as Dean came at him with the seventh dose of blood.

Castiel moved to his side in a show of solidarity as Dean depressed the plunger and forced his own blood into the demon's neck.

* * *

Gabriel ebbed and flowed at Sam's side as he worked through the last few cells. He didn't speak but Sam thought he could sense smugness rolling from the angel as he came to the last cell.

Sam peered through the bars, checking the aura, and then stepped back involuntarily as he saw who was inside.

"Rebecca?"

She raised stunned eyes to him and rushed forward, her hands gripping the bars.

"You!" she gasped. "Oh god, it's you. Please, help me. Get me out of here."

Sam pushed open the door slowly and she rushed out and at him. She threw her arms around him and pressed her face against his chest. Sam could feel the warmth of her soul against him.

"It's okay," he said softly. "I'm getting you out of here."

She pulled back and looked up at him. "You can really do that?"

Sam gestured to Gabriel and said, "With his help, I can."

"What is that?"

"An archangel," Sam said. He addressed Gabriel. "Is that it? I can't feel anymore. Can you?"

" _No, I think we're good to go."_

"How exactly do we go?" Sam asked.

" _That's the easy part. Make a cut on your arm and brace yourself."_

Sam frowned. "For what?"

" _An experience you won't forget."_

Sam bent and pulled the small silver knife he kept in his boot free. He drew the tip of the blade down his arm, drawing a long cut.

" _Repeat after me,"_ Gabriel said. _"_ _Conjunti sumus, unum sumus."_

Sam did as he was bidden and then lurched back so he was pressed against the wall. The souls had changed from human looking to orbs of bright white light. They came at him in a rush, and Sam watched as they sank into his arm like smoke. It burned like there was an iron poker against his skin but at the same time it felt right—comforting and serene.

" _Come on then, Winchester,"_ Gabriel said. _"Let's get out of here. You know the way."_

Sam started to walk, and then run, and then he practically flew along the corridor, Gabriel alongside him. He saw Gabriel pulse, almost as if he was laughing. Sam didn't care though. With the souls inside him, he almost felt one with them, and he felt their need to be free.

When he came to the stairs, he bounded up them, feeling no fatigue, bolstered by the souls almost as much as he had been by Gabriel's grace.

He reached the door and threw it open, rushing out into Crowley's throne room where he stopped. There was a male demon waiting for him, black-eyed and wearing a thick-banded ring—War's.

"Winchester, I hear you've been busy," he said. "Playing with things you have no business playing with."

Sam didn't hesitate. Feeling the souls rising in him, working with him, he lifted his hand, clenched his fingers, and killed the demon as easily as popping a soap bubble.

" _Nice work,"_ Gabriel said approvingly. "Now, let's get out of here. There's someone waiting for us."

"Dean," Sam said happily.

" _Soon."_ Gabriel said. _"First we have to set some souls free."_

Sam nodded and walked through the corridor of the asylum and out into the open air. There was a woman waiting for him there, her timeless eyes fixed on him and a wide smile on her face. "Sam…"

"Tessa," he whispered, raising his arm to her. "You're here for these?"

"Yes."

"What do I need to do?" Sam asked.

"Just say the magic words and set them free," she said.

" _Et inde ad olympum,"_ Gabriel said.

Sam cut across his arm where the light was brightest and recited the words. The souls poured free and, as if drawn by a magnet, rose to the sky, swirling, almost seeming to rejoice at their freedom and the offer of peace.

Sam watched them go and felt a tear track down his cheek at the raw emotion of the moment.

As the last disappeared into the inky black sky, Sam turned to the cloud of light beside him and said, "Take me to Dean."

" _Be right back."_ Gabriel said and disappeared on the air.

"You have done something incredible here today, Sam. I hope you appreciate that," Tessa said.

Sam smiled. "I think I do."

"I'm glad. I hope I don't need to see you again for a very long time."

"Me, too," Sam said. "It's been good."

"Yeah, yeah, hug it out," Gabriel said, appearing beside him in his usual vessel. "But you might want to hurry it up. We've got somewhere to be."

Sam smiled once more at Tessa and said to Gabriel. "I'm ready. Take me to my brother."

* * *

Dean hissed between his teeth as he drew the last of the blood into the syringe. Crowley was watching with tense, wet eyes. At some point after the seventh dose, he had started to cry. Dean might have felt sorry for him had he been practically anyone else, but it was Crowley—he had killed countless people, stolen souls and grace; he was the reason Sam was currently in Hell.

"Please, Dean," he said plaintively. "Don't do this."

Dean raised the syringe and stepped toward him, then faltered as he heard the flutter on the air. He turned and saw Gabriel and Sam standing by the door. The syringe dropped from his nerveless fingers as and he rushed at his brother. Sam met him halfway and they embraced, holding tight to each other for a moment before pulling back and both asking at the same moment, "Are you okay?"

Dean laughed softly. "I'm fine. Pissed as all hell at the stunt you pulled, taking off like that, but fine."

"Sorry," Sam said, and Dean thought he was sincere. "But you wouldn't have wanted me to go, and it was too important to wait."

"Damn right I wouldn't have wanted you to go!"

"It's okay now," Sam said. "I'm out, and they're all free." He turned to Death. "We got them all."

"Good," Death said mildly. "Now, Dean, it's time."

Dean picked up the syringe again and moved to stand behind Crowley.

"Don't do this," Crowley said, no sign of his old strength in his voice.

Dean hesitated a moment, and then Sam's hand settled on his shoulder, a comforting warmth reminding him of why they were doing this.

"Sorry," Dean said. He pierced Crowley's skin with the tip of the needle and depressed the plunger. Sam tightened his fingers and then released him as Dean pulled it free.

"You know what to do," Death said.

Dean cut across his hand with the tip of his pocketknife and fisted his hand so the blood flowed. Sam shifted restlessly beside him as Dean laid his bloody palm over Crowley's mouth, pointedly not looking into his demon-red eyes.

"Exorcizamus te,omnis immundus spiritus. Hanc animam redintegra. Lustra! Lustra!"

Bright white light spilled from Crowley's eyes and a strong wind seemed to rip through the air. Dean felt Sam tugging him back, but Dean felt like he was fused in place, his hand over Crowley's mouth. And then the feeling passed, his hand dropped back to his side, and Sam was spinning him, patting him down and asking frantically, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Dean said hoarsely. He felt okay. Tired, exhausted even, as if he'd run a marathon and just passed the finish line, but exultant, too. "I'm fine." He looked down at Crowley and saw he was looking down at the floor, tears streaming down his cheeks and his chest shuddering. That was all he saw though. There was no demonic presence behind the human face. "It worked," he breathed.

"Yep," Gabriel said cheerfully. "Nice work, Dean."

"Yes," Death said. "That was nice work indeed. Now, if one of you would be good enough to call Michael, I would be grateful."

Castiel and Gabriel walked forward, moving to stand either side of where Dean and Sam stood together, flanking them and preparing to protect with their blades in their hands. Dean wondered if that meant they were in danger now that they had done what Michael wanted. Would he renege on their deal?

Pushing down his hatred for the angel and clinging to the knowledge that it was almost over, Dean sent up his prayer. "Michael. It's over now. We're ready for you."

There was the familiar sound of an angel's arrival and Michael arrived with Zachariah at his side. Dean felt a wave of loathing toward them both. So much bad was down to them.

Michael looked amused at the sight of them all lined up, and Zachariah openly laughed. "Look what we have here, the fallen and the humans."

"Watch your mouth," Gabriel said stiffly.

Michael disregarded them both and said, "Is it done?"

"Yes," Death said. "He is human again."

"Then why is he alive?" Michael asked.

"Because killing him wasn't part of the deal," Sam said boldly. "We agreed to make him human. If you want him dead, you can do that yourself."

Michael took a step forward, his blade slipping into his hand. Both Gabriel and Castiel drew their own.

"I am not here to kill your pets," Michael said scathingly.

"Good," Death said. "You would not succeed, but it would offend me if you tried. Incidentally, I had a better idea of an appropriate fate for the former demon."

Crowley's tear-painted face snapped up. "What?"

"If you kill him, he will have Heaven or Hell," Death said.

"Hell," Zachariah snapped. "We will not allow him entrance to Heaven."

"Indeed. Then he will go to Hell, and he will be tortured for centuries until he comes out as a demon again and all Dean's hard work will be for nothing."

"What is your suggestion?" Michael asked stiffly.

"The Empty," Death said.

Sam laughed as Crowley whimpered and started to plead, "No! Please, no!"

"I think that's an excellent idea," Michael said, satisfied. "I assume you'll arrange this for us?"

"I will." Death walked to Crowley and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Come along, Crowley."

"No!" Crowley moaned. "I'll do anything."

"There is nothing I want," Death said. He laid a hand on Crowley's shoulder and they both disappeared.

"I don't know what he's complaining about," Gabriel said lightly. "It's not like he'll be alone there. Billie is there already."

Dean turned to Sam to share a smile, but Sam was looking intently at Michael. "We did our part," he said. "Now do yours. Give us our father back."

"I will," Michael said. "But there is something I think I am duty bound to say before I do."

Dean crossed his arms over his chest. "Yeah? What's that?"

"Your father has spent all his time with me locked in a dream of your mother. Bringing him back may not be the fate he would choose."

"Nice try, Michael," Gabriel said. "There are ways around that though, as you know. Give them their father. They've earned it."

"You might want to close your eyes," Michael said.

His heart racing in his chest, Dean closed his eyes and waited. There was a high-pitched whine that sounded like a voice, silence, and then a voice growled, "You!"

Dean's eyes snapped open to see Michael lurch at Cas. A protest had barely formed on his lips before he was spinning on his heel and thrusting out an angel blade. Dean saw, stunned, as the blade sank into Zachariah's throat and through to the other side. Bright white light spilled from Zachariah, and then, as Michael pulled back the blade, he fell back to the dirty floor a dark outlines of wings appeared on the ground spreading from his back.

Michael turned from the body on the floor and a familiar smile crept across his features, creasing his eyes—the eyes that held no angelic awareness.

"Dad?" Sam breathed.

"Boys," John said serenely.

"What…?" Dean started, unable to comprehend what he had just seen.

"He wasn't a friend of yours was he?" John asked.

"Furthest thing from it," Dean said with a laugh.

"Good, because he deserved to die."

"No argument from me," Gabriel interjected before Dean could speak. "He's been a dick from the very beginning. He liked to kiss ass though, so he was Mickey's favorite. John Winchester, nice to see you again."

John's grip tightened on the blade in his hand.

"This one is a friend," Sam said.

"Bite your tongue," Gabriel scolded and Sam smiled. "If you're done insulting me, I better blow this popsicle stand. I should have that talk with Mickey and let him know _his_ pet is dead. See ya, fellas."

"Wait," Sam said, holding out a hand to him to shake.

Gabriel looked amused but he shook it with a smile. "You keep on keeping on, Sam Winchester. Don't forget what I said about people."

Dean and John frowned, but Sam seemed to understand something as he nodded.

"Thanks, Gabriel," Sam said.

"Stay in school, kids." Gabriel grinned, winked, and then disappeared.

Dean turned back to his father, seeing the complete bemusement on his face. "You okay, Dad?"

"I'm fine, son," he said with a smile. "I'm guessing I've missed a lot. You boys are going to need to fill me in."

"What's the last thing you remember?" Sam asked.

"I remember being in that lab with Meg before the angels took me. Tell me she's dead, please."

"Yeah," Dean said. "She's gone."

"Good. Now, I need a drink. Let's… What's wrong, Sammy?"

Sam was looking at him warily. "I need to ask you something," he said apologetically. "And we both need you to be honest."

"Of course, son," John said gently.

Sam glanced at Dean, seemed to brace himself, and said, "Do you want to be here, Dad?"

John frowned. "Here in this…" He looked around. "Is it a church? Can't say I do."

"He means here, alive," Dean said, understanding Sam's unsaid apology now. "We know what Michael did for you—giving you Mom. Do you want earth or her and Heaven?"

"I want you boys," John said quickly.

Sam smiled sadly. "And we want you, too, but we want you to be happy more."

John scrubbed a hand over his face and said, "It's not as easy that."

"It is," Sam said. "So much has happened, and it's made me see that you have to do what you want, not what you think you should do. If you want Heaven and Mom, we can make it happen, can't we?" He glanced at Castiel who nodded.

"We can do that."

Dean felt torn; for himself and Sam, he wanted his father back, but he wanted his father's happiness more. He thought it must be tearing Sam apart to be asking his father this, and he marveled at his brother. Selfishly, he wasn't sure he could have asked himself.

John hesitated on the verge of speech for a long time and then he said, "I don't want her to be alone anymore. Your mother and I were together there, and…"

"Now you're not," Sam finished for him.

John rubbed at his eyes and when he lowered his hand, it was wet. "I want you boys, too."

"One day, maybe," Sam said. "You never know. We have an inside man, after all." He smiled at Castiel. "But…"

"We don't want her alone either," Dean said.

John shook his head. "I don't want to leave you boys."

"We have each other," Sam said, drawing a shaky breath. "Do whatever you feel you need to do."

John turned to Castiel. "You can take me back to her?"

"Yes," Castiel said. "I can ensure you're together again."

John nodded and turned apologetic eyes on Sam and Dean where they stood shoulder to shoulder. "Thank you, boys."

He held his arms open and Dean, knowing the decision was made, stepped into them for what would be the last time living. He clung to his father and tried to hold back the tears that wanted to stream from him. There would be a time for tears later, when he was gone. He had to make this as easy on his father as he could now. John squeezed him once more and then released him. Dean smiled and looked into his eyes, absorbing the sight of him.

"Sammy?" John said tentatively.

Sam scrubbed a hand over his face and walked toward his father who dragged him into his arms forcefully and gripped him tightly. Dean could see Sam shaking hard, and heard John whisper something Dean couldn't hear.

When they pulled back, though, Sam's face was dry and his lips curved in a smile. "Tell Mom we love her," he said.

"I will," John said. "And I love you boys, too. I am so proud of the men you have become. You're heroes."

Dean smiled slightly. "We're Winchesters."

John nodded, gave them a searching look, and then turned to Castiel. "I'm ready."

Castiel nodded and said, "I think you are." He gestured John toward the door, and fell into step beside him.

As the door opened, bright white light spilled forth, and Dean felt a moment's urge to follow, to see his mother, too, to be with his father. But then he heard Sam's shakily indrawn breath at his side and he pushed aside the impulse. It wasn't time for them yet. They still had lives to lead.

The light disappeared as the door closed behind them. Dean looked at Sam and saw he was wiping at his face. Dean thought, of all the things Sam had done that day and all days in his life, letting his father go when he'd just gotten him back, might have been the very hardest.

It was dawn again by the time they reached The Roadhouse, but Dean knew there wouldn't be sleep yet, though he yearned for it. He was physically and emotionally drained. They had been through so much, too much, in the past couple days—so much that it seemed like a lifetime had passed since Sam said yes to Gabriel.

The door was flung open at their approach and Ellen flew out. She threw herself into Sam's open arms and clung to him for a moment before releasing him and grabbing at Dean.

"Did it work?" she asked in a rush. "Is it over?"

"It's over," Sam said in a numb voice.

Dean understood how he felt. There had been great success and reunion, but there had also been pain and parting, and Dean thought it would take them a while to come to terms with that.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

Sam nodded and Dean said, "We're fine."

She led them into the kitchen and gestured them to chair. "Sit. I'll make you something to eat."

Dean sat but Sam remained standing. "Ellen," he said tentatively. "Do you still have…" He didn't seem able to finish the question.

Ellen must have understood though, as she beamed at him and reached into a drawer. She pulled out a thick envelope with the Stanford seal, and held it out to Sam.

"Go on," she encouraged. "Open it, honey."

Sam took a deep breath, glanced at Dean who nodded encouragingly, and took the envelope.

With a trepid look on his face, Sam tore the seal and pulled out his letter—taking the first step toward his future.

* * *

 **So… It's done. The souls and angels are free, Crowley is gone, Michael is sworn to stay away, Gabriel is going back to his old ways, and John and Mary are together again.**

 **Until next time which is the last time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	23. Epilogue

_**Some thanks…**_

 **Jenjoremy – for knowing exactly just the right word or phrase to add to make it a hundred times better and for controlling my commas, thank you.**

 **Gredelina1 – for allowing me to talk 'My Boys' every day for a year and a half without complaint, and for knowing when I needed to be reined in and when I needed to run free, thank you.**

 **SandraEngstrom2 – for helping me beat the ideas out and giving your encouragement and approval for each completed chapter, thank you.**

 **You All – Thank you for every fave, alert, PM and review. You have all been fantastically supportive and I have truly appreciated it. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.**

* * *

 _ **Lay Your Weary Head To Rest…**_

 _ **Don't You Cry No More…**_

For the first time in the history of The Roadhouse, Ellen didn't open up for New Year's Eve. She wanted peace with the people she loved, not a bar full of rowdy hunters, shouting for drinks. She wanted to enjoy herself and celebrate.

Dean came into the bar, the phone pressed to his ear. "Yeah, Sonny, I know. We'll come as soon as we can. We're going to be busy a while yet though," He paused and smiled as he listened for a moment. "I'll tell them you said so." He held the phone away from his ear and called to the room, "Sonny says Happy New Year!"

"Happy New Year," they chorused.

"You hear that?" Dean asked, then laughed. "You too, Sonny. Take care of yourself." He tucked the phone back in his pocket and smiled happily.

The door opened then and Jo came in. Ellen made a small noise of surprise. "Jo!"

"Hey, Mom," she said happily.

"I thought you said you weren't going to make it back in time," she said.

Jo grinned. "I hitched a ride." She stepped into the room and Castiel followed.

"Thank you, Castiel," Ellen said sincerely.

"You are very welcome," he replied.

"Cas!" Dean shouted then, spotting his friend.

Sam turned, too, and a smile spread across his face. "Thought you had heavenly duties," he said.

"I did," Castiel admitted, "But when Jo called, I decided this family took priority over my heavenly one."

"Have a drink," Sam said pushing a glass of whiskey into his hand.

"I really don't…" Castiel started, but then shook his head and smiled, "Thank you, Sam."

Jo leaned over the bar, grabbed a beer then made her way over to Sam and Dean.

Sam wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. "Thought you had a hunt."

"I do, but Cas said he'll bounce me back tomorrow to finish. Besides, I wanted to see you two before you left for California. When do you go?"

"A few days," Dean said. "Gotta to get there and settled in our new place before Sammy starts classes."

"My big brother, going to Stanford," Jo said proudly. "Who'd have thought it?"

Sam ducked his head, embarrassed, and Dean punched his arm. "Yep, he's going to rock it."

Ellen turned away for a moment and wiped at the tear on her cheek. She was so proud of her boy, and she was so thrilled that he was going to embrace the future he deserved, but she was going to miss him and Dean so much. She would see them still, they had Castiel to help them travel whenever they desired, but it wouldn't be the same. They'd be studying and working, and living their lives, and she would be happy for them even as she missed them and how things had been.

"Hey, guy's, it's the countdown," Ash said, pointing the remote at the TV as the crowd started counting down from ten.

"Nine, Eight," they chanted, "Seven, six, five…"

Ellen moved to stand with the others and she wrapped her arms around Sam and Jo.

"Four, three …"

Jo leaned her head against Ellen's shoulder and Sam gave her a squeeze, his other arm coming to rest on Dean's shoulder.

"Two, one!" they shouted. "Happy New Year!"

Dean and Sam embraced and words Ellen couldn't hear passed between them, then Dean turned to Bobby and Sam to Ellen.

"Happy New Year, Ellen," he said, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

Ellen smiled even as a tear slipped down her cheek. "Happy New Year, Sam. Make it the best year ever."

"I will," Sam vowed. "This time it's for real."

Working life and college might not stick for Sam and Dean, but they would have their chance at least. They had earned it in a way no other people ever had. They had died for their futures. They had fought for them, and they had suffered.

She gripped Sam's hand as he turned to talk to Bobby and he looked back at her. "What?" he asked.

"I love you, Sam," she said fervently.

"Me too," Sam said. "Always will."

As Ellen stared into his eyes, hearing her friends and family welcoming the dawn of a new year and fresh start, Ellen felt a surge of hopefulness.

It really was all going to be okay this time.

 _~ The End ~_

 **So… That is where it ends. I hope you're happy with the way things have turned out. I am. I think Sam and Dean, Ellen and Jo, Ash and Bobby, Castiel and Gabriel are going to have great lives, however they choose to live them.**

 **Goodbye for now…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	24. Vignette

**Okay, so here we go. Many moons ago, Gredelina1 and I were lamenting the end of the Brotherhood verse. It was the most powerful work I'd done up to that point, and I adored the characters. They were – and still are — very alive to me. I never stopped imagining their lives, even after the epilogue was posted. I think she was fed up with my moaning about how much I missed them, or she was just being a good, enabling friend, but Gredelina1 asked why I didn't go on with them. If I knew more story, why not share more story? That started a story called As Time Goes By.**

 **For a couple weeks I had the best time writing new chapters for them, but a problem developed. I was loath to interrupt their happy life that I had ended with by introducing new challenges, even know I knew that was what happened next. I felt bad about it. A different story idea came — Missing — and I decided to dedicate myself to writing that for a while instead. Missing was followed by Lost and Found and the continuation and As Time Goes By languished. I think I will return to it one day, but not yet. Maybe one day I will feel cruel and find joy in disrupting their lives again.**

 **I sent this to SPN Mum recently as a gift and I realized that you might all enjoy seeing a little of their college life. It's been exactly one year since I wrote** _ **The End**_ **on Back in the Saddle, and I thought it was the perfect time to share. It's short, it sweet, but I hope you enjoy. It's unbeta'd so excuse the mistakes.**

 **Sorry about the long-ass author's note. Read on…**

* * *

 _ **Vignette**_

Dean closed the lid of the waffle iron and the batter hissed, joining the sounds of Zeppelin playing on the stereo. Leaning back as the steam wafted up, he smiled as the homey smell filled his nose. He took a quick sip of his coffee and then set down the mug and wandered out of the kitchen and along the hall. He knocked on Sam's bedroom door and pushed it open.

Sam was sitting at his desk, bowed over a textbook among the organized chaos that was his study space. There was a stack of books, two legal pads with scrawled notes, more pens than he could possibly need and the laptop open casting a ghostly light over his face.

"Sammy, breakfast."

"Huh," Sam said, not looking up.

Dean sighed and entered the room. He placed his hand over the page Sam was reading and Sam looked up at last. "Breakfast is almost ready."

Sam nodded vaguely and then his eyes cleared and Dean knew he had his brother's attention again. "Right. Sorry, man. I was…"

"Distracted," Dean finished for him. "I know." He smiled fondly.

It had been three years and yet he still wasn't over the novelty of losing Sam to college study instead of hunting research. That's wasn't to say it wasn't a pain on the nights Dean wanted them to kick back with a beer and watch a game or catch a movie and Sam wanted to hole up in his room instead and work his books. Sometimes Dean had to pull him away from it for his own good. Sam could be single-minded in his focus to make the most of the chance he had been given at Stanford; he didn't want to waste a moment of it. Dean was sometimes forced to be the one to make him see that there was more to life than study.

That wasn't to say it wasn't fun. They had good lives, vastly different to the ones they had been living in the lead up to the apocalypse and Crowley fight. They saw friends for reasons other than crisis meetings, they celebrated holidays, they visited family when they could, they watched football games and even made new friends. Dean reconnected with a few from his old life too. It was a good way to live. It was a life Dean thought John and Mary would both have wanted for them.

Dean went back into the kitchen and poured a coffee for Sam, and when he wandered in a moment later, his textbook in his hand, Dean handed him a coffee and tugged the book out of his hand in return.

"What…?" Sam started.

"Fruit's in the fridge," Dean said. "Prepare that and then I'll give your book back."

Sam laughed and shook his head, his hair falling into his face. He pushed it back and said, "Are you seriously holding my study to ransom until I have done my chores?"

"Yes," Dean said decisively. "No more school for you until you've done your bit."

"But I can watch TV, right?"

"Yeah, but nothing educational."

Sam laughed again and Dean joined him. He set the book down and pointed at the fridge. Sam acquiesced. He picked up a bowl and loaded it with fresh fruit then carried it to the chopping board and set to work while Dean slid his first batch of waffles onto a plate and poured in more batter.

"What's the plan this weekend?" he asked. "I was thinking we could make a trip home, see Ellen, Jo, and Ash."

Sam paused chopping a strawberry and turned to look guiltily at him. "I need to work, Dean. But you can go."

Dean snorted. "Sure. Ellen will let that pass. I won't get a lecture on letting you work too hard at all."

"No one _lets_ me do anything," Sam said.

Dean pointed a finger at him. "Yeah? You tell her that next time."

Sam shook his head quickly. "No, thank you."

"Exactly. Seriously, though, we could go there as soon as we've cleaned up here, stay till Monday morning, and be back in time for class and work no problem if we hop a flight Angel Air."

"I really can't. I've got a paper to finish and finals are coming up."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Finals are in _two_ months, Sam."

"And if I don't pass, I don't graduate." Sam sighed. "I need to be ready, Dean."

"There's ready and there's overworked."

"Tell me you weren't cramming two months before finals and I'll take a weekend off," Sam said.

The lie was on the tip of Dean's tongue, but it would not pass his lips. He huffed with frustration. "Fine. But Spring Break is coming up, and when it does, we're taking a few days at The Roadhouse. We'll both be off work then."

Sam smiled. "Agreed."

He turned back to his task and Dean lifted the lid of the iron to check the waffles. They were ready so he plated them and carried them over to the table. Sam set a platter of fruit down in the middle and then refreshed their coffees.

They sat down at began to eat in companionable silence, _Kashmir_ playing quietly in the background.

Dean was mulling over a problem with one of his caseload as he ate. He was working now as a part of school district social work team. He liked the work as he reached more children than he had working before, but he missed building the close relationships he had when working alone. Now he was part of a larger team, he shared the cases, spreading the load. It was good to have people to go to with problems though, and the backup services availability was much better than he had before. He didn't have to fight for what he needed anymore as they were all part of the same system. It also meant the onus wasn't all on him. There would never be another Mitch as his kids didn't have the same dependency on him.

"You okay?" Sam asked, bringing him from his thoughts.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Fine."

Sam smiled slightly. "How about we see if Cas is free this evening?" he asked. "We can go home for a couple drinks. Maybe see if Bobby's free, too. Cas can swing by and get him, and we can all take an hour or so off."

"Thought you were too busy," Dean said.

Sam shrugged. "Couple hours won't hurt."

Dean knew it was for him that Sam had changed his mind, but he wasn't going to complain. He missed Ellen and the others, and it would be good to see Bobby, too. They both needed a break.

"That sounds good," he said, returning to his breakfast with more enthusiasm.

Some time together and the rest of their family was just what they all needed.

* * *

 **Thanks so much for reading. Much love...**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


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